Daybreak: Her Side Of The Story
by WinterSunshine
Summary: "In that moment, something shifted inside me, not in a physiological way, but on a much, much deeper level. In this moment, I was forever changed, by the seemingly simple human boy sleeping in the bed across the room from me." [Life and Death/Midnight Sun, from Edythe's POV/perspective.] Canon pairings, etc, etc.
1. First Sight

**A/N (01/02/19):** Hi, all. So I've made a resolution to go back through what I've already written and try and perfect it a little. This chapter, in particular, has undergone some pretty significant changes—most notably, its extension.

I feel like much of this was rushed through the first time around—I was just so excited to get it all out—and so now I'm going back through and revising things, making them more my own—now that I understand Edythe a little better.

Hope you like it!

…

There had never been a period of time during the day where I had wished more for the ability to sleep—or, at the least, to be able to lapse into some form of mental inertness.

Perhaps I deserved the torture of these many hours of interminable, unforgettable ennui, a tantamount reparation for the sins and depravity I'd taken part of in my too-long life. When I thought of the _so many_ transgressions I'd taken against humankind, I found it difficult to feel any modicum of self-pity at all.

Yes, I thought to myself, I did deserve the arduous monotony of small-town high school life, the four years of which I'd repeated more than a dozen times. If the many human lives I'd taken, if the depraved thoughts and behaviors of the demonic existence I'd allowed myself to assume for nearly half a century, were any indication of the vulgar life I'd led, then this, I conceded, was the beginning of my atonement.

For all the allowances and concessions my mother had made for me, the way I spent my days now were small change in exchange for the grueling effort it had taken her to allow my siblings and I to live in this way.

Now, I stared across the long, institutional dining hall, imagining elaborate patterns into the mundane cracks in the plaster walls—while always, always doing my best to ignore the influx of more than one hundred thoughts invading my own psyche.

I had had many years to hone and perfect this gift I'd discovered upon waking to my new life; most of the time, it was like the rush of a gurgling stream in the back of my mind. The majority of the inner voices I blocked out due to tedium—after all, with almost a century of life behind me, there was literally _nothing_ I hadn't already heard.

But today, all of the thoughts revolved around a similar event: The new boy in school. In a hamlet this small, the arrival of a new student was at the forefront of every student, and every teacher's, mind.

From what I'd heard of their inner monologing, Beaufort Swan was an ordinary looking teenage boy—in my perspective. According to almost the entire female student body, and some of the male, this boy was like a model, or a movie star. He was tall, presumably close to six foot four, and surprisingly fair-skinned for the desert state from which he'd heralded. Against this curiously pale complexion was a shock of dark hair, and soft blue eyes that had appeared troubled in most of the students' thoughts.

Only four of the inner voices in the school were not entirely obsessed with this newcomer, and only the same four of them did I disregard due to cordiality. My two sisters, and my two brothers. I tried to block out their thoughts as best I could, but still… I knew.

Royal, as usual, was thinking about himself. My tall, blond brother had been the first of my siblings to join my family, many years ago, and at the time of our meeting, I had never heard a mind more narcissistic, more self-oriented, than Royal Hale's.

Eleanor, his mate and my sister, was feeling surly over the fight she'd lost to my other sister, Jessamine, last night. Losing never had, and I suspected never would, come easy to El. She was going to request a re-match as soon as we were home, out on the back lawn. Earnest didn't like it when we fought inside the house.

My other—and much more highly favored—brother Archie's mind was a blur of indistinct images, keeping an 'eye' on the immediate future, fingers woven firmly through his wife Jess's. Every once in awhile, he threw her a worried glance.

And Jessamine… I released an inaudible sigh, biting back my grimace of pain. Though I was not an Empath like my sister, I could read her thoughts clearly, and in turn, her discomfort automatically translated into my own. Jessamine was suffering, as per usual. She was the newest addition to our 'vegetarian' lifestyle, as we had titled it, half jokingly, almost five decades ago. The anecdote was humorous to us, because our coven chose to feed on animals instead of humans.

But Jessamine had spent decades feeding in just that habit, and she was still adjusting to the transition.

Though the majority of us could sympathize with her plight, we'd all had more time to adjust to this life of abstinence than she undoubtedly had.

 _Edy._ I didn't respond to Archie's herald. My favorite brother and I had practiced the semantics of these silent conversations for many hours, and, as such, had found ourselves quite proficient. Even when such a thing wasn't necessary, we liked to communicate this way if only to aggravate Eleanor. _How's she doing?_

I let the corners of my lips just slightly turn down. My other siblings, who, due to our nature, rarely missed the obviousness of shifting facial expressions, would simply equate my frown to a disposition of boredom. Archie, however, would clearly translate this illustration into words of dissuasion and concern.

His mind lapsed into premonition, searching the proximate future with a hint of hysteria.

 _Do I need to take her away from here?_

I turned my head to one side, sighed, and then turned it back the other way. An opposition.

My feral sister would be fine, but irritation and distress—neither of these emotions foreign to me in the slightest—sparked inside my abdomen. It was idiotically hazardous to go between feeds for this amount of time. This experimentation was dangerous. Jess would need to hunt as soon as school was out for the day. Not only for her throat's sake, but for the sake of all of us, and the town, too.

 _Thanks, Edythe. For doing this._ Archie's mental tenor was much more his normal self, now that he saw nothing was going to happen.

I found it curious that, for all his confidence in his usual interpretations of the future, he'd never quite trusted _this_ particular avenue of 'sight'. When it came to Jessamine and her sometimes wily musings, Archie had never been confident enough to handle her by himself. Of course, I knew this was due to the fact that, before they'd joined our family, there had been too many slip-ups, too many last minute snap decisions that he'd missed—after all, he wasn't perfect. But it had not been only for him that I'd lent a metaphorical shoulder.

I lifted just my eyes to the ceiling, and then back down. Only Archie knew I was nodding. What could I say, if I were required to answer aloud? 'My pleasure'? Hardly. Necessity, however, was far more important a thing than gratification.

At that moment, a boy stepped up to the end of our table, only feet from where Jess was sitting, pausing to talk with a few of his friends. He shifted his weight, hiking his backpack higher on his shoulder, and when he moved, he inadvertently put himself directly in the path of the school heaters, and his scent burst in our direction.

I had long ago become accustomed, and then, after a time, re-accustomed, to the way the scent of human blood affected me when it had been too long. The sudden, agonizing desiccation of my petrified throat, the ghostly twist of famine in the pit of my stomach, the automatic, instinctual coil of my muscles, the excess flow of venom that filled my mouth, the throbbing ache of my jaws… None of these instinctual reactions were out of the ordinary, or even not to be expected. Our kind, in our most rudimentary of establishments, were hunters and huntresses; and this was the way we reacted to the presence of our prey.

But it was an instinct that, while many of our kind did not bother to school—or even out rightly acknowledge as a separate entity—our acknowledgement of and effort to control set us apart from others of our species.

Jessamine was letting her imagination run a little too wild, paint too vivid an illustration. She was allowing her mind to crochet the picture: She would rise, gracefully and masterfully, from our table and walk over to the boy. She would lean close to murmur in his ear, feeling the hot pulse of his body heat touch her cold, granite skin, whisper an excuse about requiring his aid. She would exit the cafeteria with the boy happily in tow—we'd never encountered a problem in this attainment before—and lead him around back of the building, where it was secluded. She would push him up against the brick wall, none too gently, and press herself close to his warm, soft body, eyes focused on the thick, throbbing artery in the side of his throat. The venom would inundate, unprecedented, and her lips would part to reveal aching, razor sharp teeth—

I swung my leg out, the toe of my boot connecting solidly with the leg of her chair, jarring her abruptly from her fantasy.

"Sorry," she whispered, longing and hunger immediately replaced by self-castigation and penitence.

"Don't worry, babe," Archie soothed her, stroking her hand, "Nothing was going to happen."

For the second time in five minutes, I bit back my own uncomfortable grimace. Only he and I would know that this was a very flagrant fallacy. Archie and I had found immediate refuge in one another the moment we'd met, and we had to stick together, now. It wasn't easy hiding our differences from the world, and as outcasts, we had to lean on each other for support. We were both misfits in a world of misfits. Protecting each others' secrets was the least we could do.

"He's a good guy," Archie stipulated now in a low murmur, "It helps if you see their humanity. His name's Winston, he has a kid brother he lives for—"

"I know who he is," Jess cut him off, her tone sharp and cursory, effectively ending the conversation. She snatched her hand out from underneath his and turned minutely in her chair, toward the wall of windows across the room.

Archie watched her profile for a minute, brows knit tight with concern—he hated, more than anything, to see her suffer—and then, knowing nothing else he could think of to say would remedy the situation, rose sinuously from his seat.

He moved across the room, dumping his tray—a mere prop; our petrified bodies required no nourishment from anything other than blood—and then exited the cafeteria. Jess's thoughts were filled with remorse, self-hatred and humiliation. I wanted to comfort her, and attempted to form a procession of words that would help to ease her strife.

 _Edythe Cullen._

My head turned compulsorily, as if the person who'd thought my name had spoken aloud. My gaze fell on the face I assumed had silently spoken my name. He was tall, his shoulders angular, with bright blue eyes set in a stirring countenance, over a straight nose and plush, pink lips, underneath thick, dark brows and long, dark eyelashes. This was the new boy the entire school had been thinking of, certainly, the seventeen year old boy named Beaufort Swan. Or, Beau, as he had corrected everyone who had addressed him by the former. He'd moved from Phoenix, Arizona to live with his father, Chief Charlie Swan, on the east side of town. A new custody situation.

I turned my attentions away, glad that this sort of compulsory reaction had begun to lessen in frequency. As time had passed, my given name had invariably gone out of style. I rarely encountered an Edythe these days.

 _Good luck, bro,_ the first inner voice thought, and I realized belatedly that it had not been the new boy who had thought my name, _As if you have a chance with any of them._

The mental voice was vaguely familiar to me, as were all the other internal voices in this school—but this particular voice had become, regrettably, slightly more familiar to me since we'd returned to Forks. Jeremy Stanley had finally seemed to have conquered his severely erroneous obsession with me. I would have liked to silence the many daydreams he'd wasted his time on. I would have liked to confide in him just what would have happened if my lips, or the whetted teeth beyond them, had come anywhere close to his skin… I almost smiled at the prospect of his reaction.

He was briefing the newcomer on our family situation now, speaking in hushed tones and purposefully avoiding looking in our direction, though I could see through his eyes that the new boy was still gaping raptly at our table.

"Jeremy Stanley is giving the new boy all the dirty laundry on the Cullen clan," I informed my family, speaking too quietly and too quickly for human ears to register. I still did not look at them.

Eleanor's laughter exited in a puff of breath through her nose. _Pretty sort of boy, isn't New Kid?_ she observed almost yawningly, and then, _Hope Stanley's making it good._

"Rather unimaginative, actually. Hardly the hint of indignity, or the drop of a scandal. I'm sure the new boy will be disappointed. What a bore, this inconsequential little town must be."

Eleanor smirked. _Will he be packing his bags, then?_

I listened for a moment, realizing I'd only assumed the manner of the boy's thoughts; I hadn't actually taken the time to assess them. I probed in his direction, funneling through the chatter of the mental atmosphere to focus on this tall, blue-eyed boy alone, and then… I focused harder.

Harder still, for there was a strange, open space from where he sat.

Discomforted and irritated, because having to do so was unfamiliar, I glanced toward him to check. I hoped my eyes on him would give me a better sense of my extra hearing.

Not only did I want to know the answer to El's question for whatever unseemly reason, but it was also my duty as resident telepathic, to know at all times what the humans around us were thinking, for security reasons. If any one of them were to suspect anything out of the ordinary about us, my warning would give my family more than enough time to relocate before trouble arose.

My eyes met Beau's now, and I could feel the unusual expression on my face: unsteady, irresolute, searching.

I was almost surprised to find that he was sitting in the exact same spot he had been, still listening to Jeremy's story. But there was absolute stillness from his mind, a total and complete non-calculation. Never before had I encountered something like this in a human, and I stared harder, beginning to grow frustrated and, if I was truthful, a little panicked.

Inviting color rose in the boy's face now as he jerked his eyes away, likely embarrassed at being caught staring. I was glad Jess's attentions were still diverted, ignoring the odd undercurrent of the unfamiliar sensation inside my chest: the clinch of defensiveness, almost… annoyance toward my sister, though she had done nothing wrong…

My gaze was still focused across the room, now on the boy's sharp profile.

The emotions in his clear blue eyes had been spelled out clear as day: surprise, and then curiosity… And… something more… Fascination? He was definitely interested—this much was clear from the turmoil in his eyes.

And yet, though the reflections had been so undeniably clear in his eyes, I could hear nothing from the place he was sitting. Nothing at all.

Palpable agitation twisted my insides, accompanied by the untried and terrifying sensation of self-doubt. I strained harder, concerned that my talent might be slipping through my grasp now.

The thoughts of every student clamored in my mind, at shouting volume now.

… _wonder what music he likes… maybe I could mention that new CD,_ McKayla Newton was musing, two tables away. Her eyes were fixed on Beau, with a strange sort of ownership I immediately disapproved of. Apparently I wasn't the only one.

 _Look at her staring at him, like she practically owns him,_ Erica Yorkie thought sourly, _Isn't it enough that she has half the boys in this school falling over her feet already?_

… _just nasty. You'd think he was the president's kid or something. Even_ _ **Edythe Cullen**_ _staring... And Jeremy, showing off his new buddy like they're the best of friends… What a joke…_ Logan Mallory's mind, I noted, was in top form as always…

… _wonder if he plays ball… Maybe I'll ask him to try outs…_ Andrew Dowling mused.

… _maybe he'll be in my Spanish class…_ June Richardson hoped.

… _loads left on my plate tonight—and work, too. That English test to study for, Trig questions to go over… I wonder if Dad will…_ Allen Weber, a boy whose thoughts were unerringly benevolent and refreshingly subdued, was the only one at the table not completely obsessed with this new boy.

I could hear them all, every insignificant, petty thought flaring through my mind with amazing volume. And yet, I focused harder still, eyes on this boy, because—from where he sat—there remained to be nothing at all.

Of course, I could hear his physical voice from across the room. I didn't need my mind-reading capabilities to achieve that. It was clear and gently baritone, and something about it distracted me, took me off guard for a singular moment. I wondered what else he'd say…

"Which one is the girl with the reddish brown hair?" he asked his neighbor now, plainly curious. He had propped his elbow on the table and was currently casting a blasé glance around the cafeteria, eyes lingering on me.

His voice, which I was sure would have given me aid to access his inner thoughts, was entirely new to me.

 _Oh, good luck, idiot!_ Jeremy guffawed inside his head before answering the boy. "That's Edythe. She's hot, sure, but don't waste your time. She doesn't go out with anyone. Apparently none of the guys here are good enough for her." He grunted, remembering the many times he'd tried his hand at me and failed.

I turned my face away to hide my smirk. Jeremy had no idea how lucky he was that I'd not felt a flicker of attraction toward the boy, and how dangerous it would be if I held _any_ of the appeal for him that he held for me.

I hadn't realized how hard I'd been focusing on this new student, on the way he was obviously self-conscious and struggling to fit in with the students around him, how it was clearly uncomfortable for him to sit there as the center of attention. I could sense it from the way he sat with his sharp shoulders curled inward, eyes downcast as he picked at his lunch tray.

And yet, I could only garner a sense of it, a feeling, an instinct. I could only imagine what he was thinking, because there was absolutely nothing from this strange new human boy.

 _Why?_ It was incredibly frustrating!

"Shall we?" Royal murmured, interrupting my focus, and I jerked my head toward him, startled from my concentrated daze. I felt irritated at my own failure, embarrassed by my curious fixation. Of course, the absence of entry to his thoughts was unfamiliar, but why should the peculiarities of a single, simple human boy bother me so? Why should I be so intent on piecing together this puzzle? By all means, his mind must be just as unassuming, just as trivial, mundane, and self-centered as the rest of the student body around him.

"Is the pretty new boy scared of us yet?" Eleanor teased, not even really looking at me as she picked up her tray of uneaten food. She wasn't anymore interested in the boy than I should have been.

I only shrugged, not knowing what to say.

El, Royal and Jess were playing the rolls of seniors. I was pretending a roll younger than theirs, and so I headed off in the opposite direction than they, for my junior level biology class, bracing myself for the hour of absolute tedium. I knew more than the middle-aged teacher Mrs. Banner had gleaned in her entire lifetime. There was nothing she could tell me that I didn't already know. I sighed in resignation to the repetition, and stepped into the building.

Mrs. Banner was at her desk, readying the day's curriculum, and she barely noticed me enter. Perhaps I should have made my footfalls a little heavier.

As it was, I was already taking my seat. I set my books on the table and allowed them to spill across the blacktop. I was the only student in this class who had a table to herself. Though the humans didn't know _why_ they were so inclined to sit as far away from the small, pretty redhead as possible, they did know that they _should_.

I shifted my hair over one shoulder, letting the long ginger locks pool on the black granite in front of me, and waited for class to start. Mrs. Banner's thoughts were just a hushed murmur in the back of my head; I paid them no mind, for I was still thinking about the new boy, about his strange lack of inner voice, about the odd strength of clarity in his bright cerulean eyes.

Little by little, students began to trickle into the room, their chatter androgynous and meaningless. I did not pay attention to any of it.

Beau Swan stepped into the room then—now that I _knew_ him, his lack of voice stuck out like a sore thumb—, accompanied by Allen Weber, who was grasping at topics to discuss with the boy, but having trouble as an introvert himself. He would have liked to befriend the boy, but he wasn't sure what to say, what Beau hadn't already heard; and though Allen wasn't one of the students desperate to impress the boy, he did see something in him that he admired and appreciated.

I didn't have too much time to think about that, about what Allen had seen in Beau Swan, for they walked forward, Allen leaving Beau's side to take his seat beside Logan Mallory towards the front.

As Beau passed in front of the heater vent on the way to greet the teacher, his scent swirled through the air, a palpable crimson cloud, and engulfed me.

The scent of Beaufort Swan's blood was the sweetest I had smelled in my eighty years of existence, and in this moment, there was not a single thing I wouldn't do in order to taste it.

All inkling of coherent thought, any shred of dignity or self-denial I thought I'd claimed over the lesser parts of my being, were suddenly and inexorably lost to the flames of this single boy's life essence.

Venom flooded my mouth, my muscles wound to spring, my stomach panged hollowly… And for the first time in almost seventy-five years, I did nothing to try and stop it.

It no longer concerned me that I could not read his thoughts. This was inconsequential, a riddle I was content never to know the answer to. I could live with not knowing; I could not live without the taste of his blood.

It didn't concern me that there was a room full of people—nineteen other people—that I would also have to murder.

In that moment, I had become, totally and unalterably, the monster, the animal, I had always feared had hidden inside of me, prowling beneath the surface like a starved lioness, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. She possessed me entirely now with her raw strength and her wild desires.

All of this happened in a single second of thought, all before Beau's boot touched the ground again, and he glanced down at me. I heard his heart rate pick up at the expression on my face—my entire body was aflame with famine and bloodlust, I did not possess enough control to disguise my face—and his skin flushed with color, the most beautiful color, splashes of red creeping up his neck… excreting the warm, syrupy smell of his life force even more strongly into the air between us…

I prepared to spring from my stool. If I moved fast enough—

It was then, as I leaned incrementally closer to the boy, that I caught sight of the reflection of my face in the clear mirror of his eyes, and the sight of her gave me pause, if only for a moment.

The face in the reflection of his eyes was not the girl I'd been looking at in the mirror for the past seventy years. In a single moment, I'd been teleported back to the worst years of my life; I was once again the monster I'd sworn to my mother and father, and myself, that I would never again become.

In that moment, there were two worlds at war inside my mind. One side was the lioness intent on destroying this boy, on ending his short life so I could taste the sweetest, most succulent blood I'd smelled in my eighty years of existence—and the other was, not a planet, not a world, not an army, but a voice. A single, quiet voice. A voice filled with wisdom and compassion and understanding.

 _I have faith in you,_ it said, and the auditory hallucination was so vivid, so convincing, I could have sworn my creator was in the room with me right at that moment.

Carine, my mother, in every sense of the word except for the minor inconsistency of organic etymology. We were similar only in appearance due to what we were. We shared the same porcelain skin because of the lack of pigmentation. We shared the same grace and composure because of the enhanced mental and physical capabilities that came with the change; and we shared the same eyes—black with thirst now, but… I wasn't sure we'd share that similarity much longer…

I saw her gentle face then, her honey eyes gentle with warmth and compassion. And then I saw the demonic monster's next to hers—was that really me?—her blood-red eyes the incarnation of the devil himself.

 _We choose what becomes of us,_ the hallucination said, and Carine's face stared at me, in my mind's eye, with complete and utter devotion. She loved me, so much, and she had always seen me in a much brighter light than I had ever seen myself.

She believed in me, when I did not.

She trusted me, when I could not trust myself.

She had known I would return to her, those many years ago when I'd gone off on a rebellious streak; her faith had never wavered, not for a moment.

And so it pained me, incomparably, to know that I would betray her trust, her unfailing faith, today. I knew she would not be angry that I would murder this entire room of students and one teacher, maybe more depending on how I went about it. She would look at me with the same love and understanding she always had, and she would forgive me for the unforgivable.

Beau Swan swung his long body into the chair next to mine, his movements slow and awkward, and I stiffened as the perfume of his blood surrounded me again, filled my lungs with its sweet aroma and burned down my throat.

I forced myself to acknowledge the fact that I would prove my mother wrong about me. I had worked so hard to please her, so hard to assume the kindness and composure she thought me capable of… But now, all of that had changed in a single instant.

I leaned away from the boy in revulsion—horrified by the lioness within me that was crazed with the scent of his blood, and averted my face as baseless animosity filled me. I wondered at that, why I should hate the boy so much… I'd hated all of my other victims, but they had been the lowest of the low, murderers, rapists and thieves… None of them were as clearly as innocent as this boy who sat next to me, oblivious to the danger he was in.

In all my years, I had never come across a human who unknowingly claimed such control over me. No one ever before had elicited such an immediate and authentic response from the monstrous nature inside of me, and I _hated_ him for it. Immediate and unprecedented hatred for this unassuming human boy only fueled the flames of castigation inside of me.

As awash with humiliation as I was, a sob of undeniable frustration clenched in my burning chest. It wasn't my _desire_ to murder a room full of innocent children! It wasn't my desire to so quickly snuff out all of the incredible effort I'd made over the years to beat back this side of my nature!

It was mere stubbornness that, in the next moment, made my decision for me: Who was he to control me in this way? What had I learned in the face of temptation over the years? There was reaction—emotional, physiological reaction—and then, there was response.

So then, I decided, I would _respond_ to the temptation that gripped my every cell with something comparable to the flames of the change. I was too willful to consider another avenue—it was too painful.

He shifted in his seat then, shaking himself out of his jacket to hang it on the back of his chair, and his fragrance washed over me anew. I was harshly, humiliatingly reminded that stubbornness was no authority in the face of incomparable longing.

My tense and eager muscles pushed me partially out of my seat, the motion entirely involuntarily and ruled by the instinct I'd spoken of earlier, but I clung to the bottom of the table in an attempt to hold myself in my seat. The frail object, of course, held no chance of stopping me. I was _much_ stronger than mere furniture. My nails, as strong as titanium, tore jagged holes into the pulpy wood.

In a last, unthinking grasp at sanity, I stopped breathing. Unlike the humans, the influx and release of oxygen wasn't a requirement to my species; the absence of it was merely uncomfortable, like being suddenly blindfolded and left without all of your available senses.

Of course, my kind also possessed perfect and total recall, and so the memory of his scent was nearly as torturous as actually smelling it had been, but still—it was marginally easier to cope with than it had been half a second ago, and I was able to relax my weight back into my seat.

With the clarity this lack of sensation brought me, it was suddenly clear to me, where it hadn't been before, that mass murder was not the only solution to this madness. I could wait an hour, and though the agitated lioness inside me rebelled at this, I knew that it was possible.

It would be torture to wait the hour, yes, but what was an hour in comparison to the near full century I'd already lived? I could approach him after class— _Hello, my name is Edythe Cullen; can I show you to your next class?_ —and lure him away from prying eyes. He would follow—the details that made my kind so terrifying to the humans also made me futilely attractive; none of us had ever had trouble with acquiring human prey in the past at any rate. Our strength and speed were almost unnecessary in comparison to the perfume of our skin, the beauty of our faces, all of it drawing the human forward until it was too late to realize the dangers of their closeness…

The cover of the forest was closest to the school on the south western-most part of the parking lot. I could tell him I'd forgotten a book in my car. He wouldn't know which one was mine; I could lead him that way, toward the trees. It couldn't attract too much attention, two plain rain jackets walking away from the school.

No one would notice _me_.

But Beau Swan was the center of attention today, and surely someone would notice him leaving with me. McKayla Newton had not taken her eyes off his back this entire time. She noted every time he shifted in his seat, and when he put up an arm on the table between us—to put a wall up, to defend himself?

Frustrated with not knowing exactly, I frowned and tried not to stare at the soft, inner part of his wrist, which was turned up on the black countertop. I could see the web of veins weaving through the lean muscles, pulsing deliciously under that thin membrane of pale skin…

I forced my eyes away.

If I was able to gather the wherewithal to wait out this class period, would it be possible to extend my self-control over another hour?

The fire in my throat flared, the temptress within crying out in tortured impatience.

The boy would go home to an empty house, for Chief Swan worked a full day at the station. I knew his house, as I had effortlessly memorized every house in this tiny town. His home was nestled against thick woods, with no close neighbors. There would be no one to overhear, for I would not give Beau enough time to feel pain or fear.

That, of course, would be the punctilious way to deal with this most excruciating of dilemmas.

I reminded myself that I'd gone eight decades without human blood. If I held my breath, I could last two hours, no matter how much the temptress thrashed and whined with wanton abandon.

And when I had him alone, there would be no chance of anyone else getting hurt, nor any reason to rush through my meal—as I would be required to do if I lost control here, in this classroom.

I passed the time—had I ever considered this hour the most tedious of my day?—daydreaming about the best ways to kill him; humanly of course. I was very careful not to imagine any explicit elements, knowing I only grasped very transient, very tenuous threads of self-discipline.

However, I must have been stronger than I'd formerly believed, because I—and more importantly, _they_ —did survive the hour.

Once, toward the very end of class, he glanced down at me from his seat. I could feel the unsubstantiated odium molding my expression as I met his gaze; I could see the reflection of it in his shocked eyes. Blood flush bloomed across his features once more, and the heat of it pulsed against my skin so deliciously, so palpably, that the fraying knot of my composure nearly unraveled.

But then the chime of the bell filled my ears, and I almost laughed aloud as the tired and clichéd saying entered my mind: Saved by the bell—he and the rest of the students from certain death, and I from the undisciplined, lurid murderess I'd tried so valiantly to bury behind more practiced, unfamiliar disciplines. Never far behind, however, was she?

I jerked my body from my seat, scooped my books into my arms, and strode from the room faster than I should have. If anyone had been watching me, surely they would notice that something was not quite human about my hurried and unnaturally graceful exit. But no one _was_ watching me. Every other student remained focused on the boy with the delicious-smelling blood, the boy with the curious blue eyes, the boy with the silent mind, the boy who, by this time tomorrow, would be long departed.

I couldn't explain to myself why this idea pained me—other than knowing that finally doing so would dissolve the final vestiges of sheep's clothing this wolf had managed to cloak herself in for so many years. I was so distracted by this unexpected course of thought, this emotional anguish, that I found myself curled in the driver's seat of my car instead of sitting with El in Spanish class, where I should have been.

I started to gather my things so I could force myself in that direction, but quickly discovered it to be impossible. The fear and shame refused to unlock my panicked limbs, refused to allow my legs to uncurl from behind the steering wheel. Not only was I irrevocably insecure that _any human_ now—not just Beau Swan—would be in grave danger in my presence, but I was not completely sure that I would not abandon Mr. Goff's intermediate second-language class to go find the boy.

I was not capable of tracking his thoughts—for whatever reason—, but I knew the other students' minds would give me enough clues about where he ought to be.

This idea was so tempting, so seductive, that I had to give my head a shake to clear it of the desire. How much had I worked in this last hour to ensure I _didn't_ have to kill more than a dozen others in order to attain the meal I craved with extraordinary strength?

I felt ashamed when the realization that it simply wouldn't be worth it—and I wanted it to be, very badly—was the thought that stopped me from exiting the car, instead of what _should_ have stopped me: the fact that, up until now, I'd been trying very hard to be a better 'person' than this.

Still half-crazed by the notes of his scent that obstinately clung to my long hair, I slipped a CD into the player—one that tended to pacify my rarely passionate emotions. Until today, there had not been much in this town, save for my blond-haired older brother, that was able to get a rise out of me.

But now, not even music could still my racing, obsessive thoughts.

I slid all four windows of the Volvo down, and gratefully swallowed huge gulps of the clean, damp air. I wished the cool rain of Washington could do the same for my memory as it did for the vestiges of Beau Swan's perfume that were easily banished from my hair and clothes. Alas, there would be nothing on this earth to ever overshadow or dim the impeccable lucidity with which I could remember the scent of his blood.

Despite the inescapable reality of this thought, I found that I was able to breathe more easily again within a matter of minutes. I had reached a tolerable level of intelligibility in my mind, and with the clearness this brought, I found I was able to rationalize again. And because I could rationalize, I was able to rebuild some of the fortress around me that had crumbled in this boy's presence.

It seemed silly to think that, just an hour ago, I'd seen no other way out of this, that the only possible solution had been to murder this innocent boy in cold blood. I could see now that there were so many other ways to escape the inducement of his blood.

If I just avoided him with enough vigilance, there would be no need to break my parents' hearts, no need to unleash the murdering temptress I'd kept checked for eighty years.

There was no reason to hate the boy who had done nothing at all but be born maddeningly and uncontrollably delicious. No reason to blame him for my own discrepancies.

Soothed by the steadily returning equanimity, I suddenly realized that I was alone—not that I hadn't known this before. But I was suddenly concerned by Archie's absence from my side. He was usually aware of any of my oppositions before I was. He had to have seen the death of Beau Swan by my hands. He had to have seen, if only briefly, the demise of an _entire classroom_ of students.

I had considered these things with too much conviction to even entertain the thought that I never would have done them. I wasn't that strong.

So if he _hadn't_ seen these most unswaying of eventualities, what _was_ he seeing?

I searched for my brother's familiar voice in a sea of many, knowing he'd be sitting in the English building across campus, and immediately found the answer. Archie's physical body was lounging in his usual seat, his knee jerking up in down in its familiar, vibrating, undetectable-to-humans way, but his mind was entirely fixated in the future, watching his wife's every move, measuring the outcome of each of her smallest decisions, in her Advanced Chemistry class across campus. He was so invested in the conjectures of her choices that it was almost as if he were standing exactly next to her.

For an instant, I desired to cross the campus and pull him out of class, to heed his council. In the next instant, however, I was overcome with such a palpable gust of heart-wrenching mortification that it felt as though I'd been struck. My insides ached with the strength of the humiliation that incapacitated me when I considered telling any of my family what I'd been capable of in the last hour.

If none of them knew already, then why should I tell them now? I'd overcome my struggle on my own; if I could avoid shedding light on my monstrosity—and in turn opening myself to vulnerable judgment on my siblings' and parents' behalf—then I would do everything to achieve it.

Of course, my parents would not look down on me for my murderous inclinations. As always, they would approach me with nothing but love and acceptance. Imagining this—Earnest's open arms; Carine's gentle expression—twisted the dagger of torturous shame in my abdomen. How could their unthinking forgiveness, their unconditional love, make me even more ashamed than I already was?

Archie, too, would forgive me easily; Eleanor would see nothing to forgive. Her attitude was jarringly ho-hum in regards to these types of instances. Jessamine would understand my temptations all too well. Only Royal, however unfair his hypocritical prejudices were, would be the only one to feel justified abhorrence toward my actions and me.

So I wouldn't tell them, then. Immediately, the age-old adage— _What they don't know can't hurt them_ —flitted through my mind.

And if my family didn't need to be aware of the lurid capabilities of the monster that lurked within the shadows of my mind—hissing, and pacing within its bars with slightly more sanity now—then why should anybody else? If I was able to elude this boy and his preposterously sweet-smelling blood, there would be no reason for anyone to find out.

I reminded myself that this had never been my goal—in fact, my ambitions had always been the exact opposite of the prowling lioness that lurked too prominently within my thought processes now. I had never _wanted_ to be capable of the rewards she promised. I had never wanted to be a murderess.

Though the goal seemed as improbable as ever now, I reached for it again—as I had done many times over the past eighty years, but never, _never_ struggling to this magnitude. But I had achieved it before, and there was no reason why I couldn't achieve the same again.

Though I hated to concede defeat in anything, I knew I must begin to make concessions now. Putting myself directly in the position I'd been in today would not only be needlessly valiant, but also incredibly reckless.

As I gathered my bag and timetable, hatred again swept through me, all of it targeting the boy who, without being aware of it, held more power over me than anyone else ever had. In this moment, I didn't believe I could despise anyone more than I despised Beau Swan and the incongruous power a weak mortal like himself held over a matchless immortal such as myself.

Before I rolled up the windows and opened the car door, I located the boy in the babble of student thought around me. Though I could not track his thoughts exactly, it was simple enough to find him through the thoughts of others. McKayla Newton, specifically, was paying more attention to him, where he sat on the sidelines in the school gym, than the lesson from Coach Clapp she should have been heeding.

Confident I would not cross paths with him again today, I headed in the opposite direction toward the main office, my purpose, and the thinly veiled hope that accompanied it, quickening my steps.

I was not paying as much attention to my self-possession as I should have been, but no matter. There were no witnesses.

Mr. Cope, the school administrator I'd been hoping to come across, was the only one behind the scratched and very outdated front desk. The room was noticeably warm, and swirled with the combined scents of more than three dozen people. But their combined scents barely touched my throat, even now, as starved as I was. I would wonder at that later.

The short, balding man hadn't noticed my silent entrance, as distracted as he was by the game of Solitaire he was playing on the desktop in front of him.

I stepped up to the long counter, which cut the room in half. "Mr. Cope?"

My voice, though quiet and gentle, startled the man from his very focused concentration on the game in front of him—a game I could have won in a little under five seconds if I'd been sitting where he was.

"Oh," he huffed, looking up into my face—and then quickly away—heart pounding. He didn't know why my sudden appearance had frightened him so, and he'd never been able to understand why, coupled with this not-so-irrational intimidation, he also felt so unreasonably attracted to a student half his age.

 _Stop it, Sheldon,_ he scolded himself, _She's too young, just a girl. You'd be arrested if anyone even knew you thought about her this way…_

Little did Sheldon Cope know that _I_ , by every means, was more than old enough to be _his_ grandmother.

"Hello, Mr. Cope," I said, using the tone of voice I often employed to make humans feel less threatened by my kind. It was something Carine had had a lot of time to master, and, in turn, had been able to teach the rest of us quite easily.

"Good afternoon, Edythe. What can I do for you?"

Assuming various roles in order to get what I wanted was easy for our kind, but especially easy for me, since I was able to decipher the landing point of any of my gestures immediately.

Already knowing where Mr. Cope's impressions of me laid, I twirled a lock of hair around my finger, and leaned toward him across the desk. His eyes, behind his thick-rimmed glasses, flashed between various parts of my anatomy, always attempting and failing to return to my face; though I wore nothing revealing, the material of my cashmere turtleneck was fashionably fitted, to keep with the current trends.

 _Stop it,_ he commanded of himself, _Inappropriate… too young… Consequences…_

"I was wondering if you could help me with my schedule?" I murmured, letting the edges of my lips pull up in a carefully flirtatious smile, vigilantly keeping my teeth hidden.

His face had gone strangely inattentive, though his heart rate had increased several tempos.

"Sure, Edythe. How can I help?"

I set my elbow on the countertop and rested my chin in my palm, fluttering my lashes. This particular gesture wouldn't be as well received as it would have been if I had fed recently, but it went over effectively enough.

"I was just wondering if there were any open spaces in a senior level science class? I was hoping I could switch out of my biology class."

"Are you and Mrs. Banner not getting along, Edythe?" he inquired concernedly.

I laughed softly, which made his heart stutter, and I was worried I'd shown too many of my teeth. "No, nothing like that," I assured him, "Mrs. Banner is lovely… But I've already studied all of her curriculum before—"

"Ah, in that accelerated school you attended in Alaska—of course." His sagging brow furrowed. _All of them—the whole lot—on the fast track to the best universities in the country… Perfect GPA's, never an error on a test, always an immediate response to any of the teachers' questions… They've all been complaining, of course. Ms. Varner would rather believe that anyone was cheating than actually believe a student was smarter than she was…_ He refocused himself, bringing up a different screen on his computer. He quickly scanned the senior Biology register, and Chemistry.

"Physics, perhaps?" I urged when he found nothing available and before he could tell me no.

"Actually, Edythe, Physics is pretty much full right now—I'm sorry. Mrs. Banner doesn't like to have more than twenty-five students in a class—she says it divides her attention too much—"

"I wouldn't cause any trouble." I fluttered my lashes again.

 _Well, no—I wouldn't think so. Her sister hasn't, and neither has her foster brother and sister… But…_ "Of course you wouldn't, Edythe, I know that. But I'm afraid there wouldn't even be anywhere to put your things… There aren't enough seats in the class…"

I could see, no matter how much he would have liked to, Mr. Cope wouldn't be moved on this front. So I abandoned that possibility.

"Could I use the period for independent study, then?"

"Drop—" His mouth popped open. This was unheard of. He'd never encountered other students of this caliber, of course, but he couldn't understand why it should be so difficult for me to sit through a subject I already knew, rather than to drop a class altogether. "But… You wouldn't have enough credits to graduate, Edythe." _Hard to believe she'd take a risk like that, especially with her four-point-oh average… She_ _ **must**_ _be having a problem with Barb… Maybe I should talk to her…_

"I'll make up for it next year," I cajoled. This was taking too long. The final bell had rung, and my siblings would grow impatient waiting for me.

"Is this something you've discussed with your parents, Edythe? They really should be involved in something like this."

Something in my expression must have cooled, grown intolerant, because Mr. Cope's heart skipped another beat, and he glanced past me to where the office door had opened to admit another student. I remained focused on the task at hand, not paying the new entrance any attention.

I corrected my mask with clear intentions now, widening my eyes and pulling my hair over one shoulder to play with the ends—disrupted after running my hands through it so many times in the car.

"Please, Mr. Cope?" I begged, "There has to be space somewhere—anywhere—else. Sixth hour biology just _can't_ be the only alternative… Could you perhaps check again for me?" I smiled softly, encouragingly.

He swallowed loudly. "Well, um… For you… Er, I mean, I could try and talk to Barb—I mean Mrs. Banner. Maybe—"

At that moment, the door opened, and Samantha Wells stepped into the room to deposit a tardy slip in the basket by my elbow. Outside, the rain had stopped and the wind had increased. The open portal of the door allowed it to whip through the room, to stir up the papers and the scents of its occupants.

Samantha went back out, passing the person who had come in so quietly, so _silently_. I knew now why I'd barely registered their arrival.

It felt as if every part of me had been calcified, my very muscles relentlessly rigid, as I turned, very slowly, to glare at him.

Of course it was Beau Swan standing against the wall by the door, with his plain black jacket zipped to his softly yielding throat. One hand was in his coat pocket, the other long, pale fingers—musician's fingers, I thought mildly, somewhere in the distant basement of my mind—were clutching a piece of paper.

A single piece of paper. _That_ was the turning point of this entire thing. Though it was impossible for my kind to forget, gone was the priority of the purpose I'd entered this building for. Now, as my entire body, but most prominently my throat, was consumed in flames, I felt a physical weight lift from my shoulders, a relief. Two lives, I reasoned, were much easier to justify than twenty.

Everything in me desired to launch myself across the room at him. Already, my body's unconscious instincts were taking over. I'd risen up on the toes of one foot to aim, the other heel was pressing into the worn orange carpet with enough force to put a dent into the floor.

Every inhale was like breathing in molten fire.

I wouldn't need to even tear my eyes from the terrified expression affixed to Beau Swan's face in order to rid the immediate area of the only other witness. It would be nothing to lift my hand and slam Mr. Cope's head into the desk with enough force to crush his skull.

I exhaled and inhaled the sweet, syrupy scent of Beau Swan before I even realized I was breathing. It was a reflexive, automatic response that had me stilling my diaphragm and lungs mid-exhale. Again, the cessation of scent cleared a tiny space of clarity inside my mind.

A choice, I reminded myself. I had a choice. Hadn't I _just_ decided that I would not allow this human boy to claim anymore of my life than he'd already done?

With the same rigidity in my muscles as before, I forced my eyes away from Beau's—so wide, so blue—and turned back to Mr. Cope.

I could not control my expression now the same way I'd done before, and I knew my face must wear the mask of a monster, because Mr. Cope shrank back in his chair, too shocked and frightened to even form coherent thought.

"Never mind then," I said quickly, forcing my voice into submission, though I wanted to scream. I had just enough air left in my half-emptied lungs to get the remainder of the words out, "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help."

I pivoted on my heel and, despite all of my resolve from before, bolted from the room. It said much of my barely-grasped control that I was able to feel the heat of the boy's body against my own as I was forced to pass him so closely.

I fled quickly down the little cobbled path and emerged onto the sidewalk. I knew I was walking too quickly, knew that I was opening our group up to reckless, avoidable speculation, but I continued that way until I arrived at the car on the opposite side of the parking lot, where my siblings were waiting for me.

I wrenched open the door, almost taking it off its hinges, and practically dove into the sanctuary of my car's uninfected, quarantined space, and gulped lungfuls of the unsoiled, fresh air. I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel, pulling my hair out of my face with my fingers, and practically sobbed in relief as the burning of my throat ceased.

Archie touched my arm, and I flinched, pulling my body upright so that I could look at him. "Edythe?"

I saw the alarm on his face, his black eyes wide with concern and dread as his sight shifted back and forth between the present and the future—formed from the cacophony of the recent past. Of course, he could not see the reason for the half-formed visions of tomorrow. After all, he couldn't see into the past, only the future. I saw the questions in his eyes as well, but could only shake my head at him.

"What the hell happened to you?" Eleanor probed from the backseat, voicing Archie's exact thoughts.

I didn't say anything to either of them; instead, I jammed the key into the ignition and slammed the car into reverse. In what would appear a reckless maneuver to the rest of the student body—but really, I was in perfect control all the while—I swung the car out of its parking space, and then jolted into drive.

We screeched out of the parking lot and fishtailed onto the main road. Before we'd hit the corner, I was going seventy.

I focused my eyes through the windshield, though it wasn't _really_ necessary, but I could not block out the confusion of my siblings' thoughts as they all turned to stare inquiringly at Archie.

But he wasn't looking back at them. His physical gaze was fixed on my profile—I looked like a mad woman, hair wild, eyes on fire—while internally, he was forming his first coherent readings in minutes. I watched, too, just as surprised as he was when he saw it.

"You're leaving?"

"Apparently so."

The monster inside clung with obstinate frustration, wanton longing, digging in with claws into the past, wailing as I left the school, and Beau Swan, behind. Its desire was so tangible, so alarmingly cognizant, that for an instant, my determination faltered and another image formed in my brother's mind.

We watched together as I would gain proximity on the Swan residence, lurking in the closely packed trees surrounding their property. In Archie's vision, I would slink sinuously across the lawn and enter the house for the first time. I wouldn't see the details, wouldn't see the procession of school photos on the mantel, or the cheerily painted yellow cabinets in the kitchen. I would only see Beau, his back turned as he did something at the counter, and I'd slink closer, entirely the huntress now, letting his blissful fragrance draw me in…

"Stop!" I begged, the word escaping my throat like a tortured gasp.

Archie didn't say anything as, again, the image shifted, Chief Swan's kitchen—and Beau's lifeless body in my arms—dissolving away, replaced by a long stretch of ink-black highway in the dead of night. On either side of the road, towering trees were coated in a heavy glossing of snow.

For the first time, he spoke. "I'll miss you."

These words were so ground shaking, so absolutely jarring, because never before had my brother accepted a course of action with such ease, especially for me. Archie had always had his opinions, had never been afraid to voice them. But now…

Eleanor and Royal shared a look. Jessamine's gaze rested on her husband's face. She would get the rest of the information later, when they were alone.

"Pull over," Archie said. We had almost reached the long gravel driveway, sheltered on either side by tall Cyprus trees, that led to our home. "We'll run the rest of the way. You should go talk to Carine first, before you leave."

I could see how it would be easier for my family if I were the one to deliver the news of my exodus, rather than me leaving my siblings to do it for me. I pressed my foot to the break, and the Volvo squealed to a stop on the side of the empty road.

Without a word, Royal, El and Jess got out of the car, but Archie stayed behind. I knew what he was going to say, and he knew that I knew, but he said the words out loud anyway, needing to say them for himself.

"You'll do the right thing. Beau is all Chief Swan has, his only son. You'd destroy him, too."

I couldn't make any promises just yet, could not guarantee that I _would_ do the right thing. I only stared at him with what I thought was an even expression, but seeing myself through his eyes, my face was wracked with torture and indecision.

Knowing there was nothing he could do to stop me from making my final decision, but wishing he could, Archie got out of the car and took Jess's hand. They were gone before I'd turned the car around.

I sped back toward the interstate, pushing the speedometer all the way up to ninety, despite the fact that I still didn't know where I was going. When I reached the fork in the road, I would have to make my decision: To the hospital to bid my mother farewell, or… Not?

Like a freight train with no hope of stopping, I barreled toward my reckoning.


	2. Open Book

**A/N:** Thank you for the great feedback on the first chapter! I hope you all enjoy this next one! A couple songs that inspired me through these first couple chapters were 'Glory and Gore' by Lorde, 'Eyes On Fire' by Blue Foundation, and 'No Way Out (Redux)' by Warpaint. (Reminder that I don't own the basic plot line, a lot of the dialogue and the rare line here and there ;))

…

Soft flakes of snow drifted gently from above, coming to settle against my hard, velvet skin. My body had cooled to the temperature of the atmosphere around me, and so the snow did not melt against my skin, or where I leaned against the bank of it. Tiny flakes of frozen ice stuck to my hair and eyelashes, but I did not move. I wasn't cold.

The sky above me was like a velvet blanket, pitch black and filled with glittering stars. If human eyes could see the copious amounts of them, the number I could see was ten times as much. I could clearly discern all of the constellations, could see the rings of Saturn without any trouble. It was magnificent—or what might have been, if I'd possessed the ability to truly see it.

It had been six days, and it wasn't get any better. Nearly a week, and I was still a prisoner, entrapped in the swirling galaxy of this human boy's lure. An unspeakable magnetic force, drawing me to him, though I was miles away, here in the vacant Denali wilderness.

Our old family friends had welcomed me openly here, almost a week ago.

I had escaped narrowly at the end of that abhorrent Monday, having to face Beau Swan once more in the school office, where I'd gone after the final bell to try and switch out of fifth period biology. I hadn't had any luck, and again I came close to murdering more innocents for the reward of Beau's blood.

He'd come in soundlessly, hesitating by the door while I spoke to the secretary, Mr. Cope, and I hadn't noticed it was him standing there until Andrew Dowling had come in to drop off a tardy slip, and had stirred up the air in that tiny, warm space.

Somehow, with the aid of Carine's conscience in my mind, I had overcome the unrelentingly powerful urge inside me.

Upon returning to the car, Archie had finally noticed the tenor of my future. Until then, he'd been totally fixed on Jessamine. He had been the one to tell me I would be leaving.

Until then, I had still been undecided, but when he spoke the question, it suddenly became clear to me, where I would go.

So I'd dropped my siblings off at the dirt road turn-off, and gone straight to Carine where she was working at the hospital.

Now, I heard the nearing thoughts before I heard the footsteps that accompanied them. The sound of movement was only a faint whisper against the powder.

I was not surprised that Tanvir had followed me here. I knew he'd been mulling over this coming conversation for the last few days, putting it off until he was sure of exactly what it was he wanted to say.

He leaped into sight about sixty yards away, lithely vaulting himself onto a craggy outcropping of stone. In the moonlight, his skin was as pale as the snow, and his hair was nearly the same shade.

He caught sight of me then, and was beside me in a short series of massive bounds. When he reached me, snow burst into the air around us, a small detonation, and I was buried in its downfall. Darkness obscured my vision, but I didn't move to unearth myself. I sat there, unmoving, troubled.

"Edythe?" Tanvir said, and I could hear the playful grin in his voice. "Hey, Edythe?" he repeated, a note of concern in his tone now.

Then he was moving, scooping the snow away from me, and when he found me, wiped the remaining powder from my face. His hands lingered just a little too long there.

"Sorry," he apologized, "It was a joke."

"I know. It was funny."

He didn't look amused, and I knew my expression was less-so. His brow furrowed, and he appraised me for a moment.

 _Ivan and Kerril think I should leave you alone. They think I'm annoying you._

"No," I protested, "You're not bothering me one bit, Tanvir. I'm the one who's been acting inexcusably."

He didn't answer me for a minute, idly brushing a patch of snow from my shoulder.

"You're going home, aren't you?" he murmured finally, and his voice would have been soundless to human ears. He didn't work to keep the disappointment hidden.

"I'm… Not sure yet."

"But you're leaving here," he stated, definitely sounding dejected now.

"Yes," I sighed, "It doesn't seem to be… Helping."

"I'm sorry—that's partially my fault."

"No," I objected, but it was a lie.

Tanvir had made no secret of his affections for me, and I had deftly avoided his advances many, many times. He didn't let it affect him too much, but he still hoped.

"I was hoping, when you showed up at the door…"

"I know." My voice was low, chagrined, "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to bolster your hopes… I didn't think before I left; it all happened so fast…"

"I don't suppose you'll tell me why…? What's going on?"

I pulled my legs up to my chest and buried my face in my knees, shaking my head slowly.

He rested his hand between my shoulder blades, and I froze at his touch. He noticed my reluctance immediately, but it still took him a moment to remove his hand.

"Do you think—?"

"Please, Tanvir… I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," he said easily, though the undercurrent of his thoughts was still curious, and there was a slight edge of jealousy. He was wondering if it had something to do with a man.

I almost laughed, though the sound would have held a definitive edge of hysteria to it.

"Not like that."

This only piqued his frustrated curiosity.

We sat in silence for a long while, and eventually, his thoughts began to peruse a different avenue.

 _Where will you go?_

I lifted my head to look at him. "I don't know." I offered up a wan smile. "I'll figure something out."

His eyes fixed on mine for a long moment. He was sitting just a little too close.

Finally he smirked and threw an arm around me, squeezing me closer. He meant it only as a friendly gesture… for the most part… so I allowed it.

"You'll go back," he said confidently, "You're not the type to shy away from a challenge."

I frowned. If he knew how cowardly I really was…

"I'm serious," he insisted, and I saw it in his thoughts: Just how high in esteem he really held me, and I held on to that image, clinging to it. I tried to see myself the way he saw me—a confident young woman, unswerving in her strength and perseverance.

I exhaled and rested my head on his shoulder for barely a moment. "Thank you."

He reached over, hooking his fingers under my chin and pulling my face up so he could look at me. He was so close, I could feel his breath washing over my cheeks.

"You're so welcome," he returned, his voice low, husky, eyes tender.

I read his thoughts just in time and turned my face away. His lips caught the edge of my cheekbone, and then he laughed, thwarted.

His arm receded from around me, and he leaned back against the snow bank, arms behind his head. He stared up at the star-studded sky for a moment.

"Y'know, I'm not used to rejection." He said these words easily, jokingly, but I could sense the rebuttal he'd taken in his mind.

"You deserve someone much better than I," I told him, "I just… Haven't found what I'm looking for yet."

He mulled this over in silence for a moment.

"Well, if you leave before I see you again...goodbye, Edythe."

"Goodbye, Tanvir." As I said the words, I could see it. I could see myself leaving. Being strong enough to go back to the one place where I wanted to be. "Thank you, again."

He rose to his feet in one sinuous motion, turned his back on me, and shot like a bullet across the plains of snow, moving too fast for his feet to even sink beneath the powdery surface.

I watched him go, and then sighed, nestling my chin between my knees, hands grasping the fronts of my shins. I hated to hurt Tanvir, but then, his affections for me were relatively shallow. Either way, they were not feelings I could return.

I knew that Archie would predict my return; that he would inform the others that I was on my way back. This would make them happy—Carine and Earnest especially. But I gazed at the stars for one more moment, reflecting on that strange magnetic pull, emanating from a place deep inside me I couldn't quite touch. This sensation, this part of me, was unfamiliar and new.

I allowed myself to wonder what my return would mean for the boy and his safety, but I was set on being the 'Edythe Cullen' Tanvir thought I was. The Edythe who faced things head-on, and didn't let obstructions get in her way.

With a heavy sigh, I got to my feet. If I ran, I would be back to Carine's Mercedes in less than an hour... In a hurry to see my family, I raced across the sparkling snowfield, leaving no trace of my passage.

…

I was standing in front of the mirror in the corner of my room, examining the outfit I'd chosen to wear today. It seemed trivial, but I wanted to look unassuming and non-affronting for the boy.

I'd chosen a pair of smart, white pants, black velvet ankle boots, and a soft pink sweater underneath a wine red knit coat. My eyes were a very light golden color, and despite the fact I'd finished hunting hours ago, I still felt overly full. I had done everything I could to prepare myself for this day, but still. I felt the ghost of a tremor run through me.

"You'll be fine," Archie spoke from my bedroom doorway. I glanced over my shoulder at him, securing the front part of my hair back with a ribbon the same color as my jacket. He had his shoulder resting on the doorjamb, hands in his pockets. He looked very casual, and very unconcerned.

Abruptly, I was supremely grateful for the confidante I had in my brother. We shared a connection I hadn't ever felt with anyone else. There was a uniqueness to our sibling bond, and I felt very tenderly for him.

"Yes," I agreed, recalling that confident, self-assured image Tanvir—and the rest of my family, incidentally—held of me. I had to believe I could do this, had to believe I would be strong enough. I would never allow myself near the boy, and the rest of the student body, if I didn't believe it would be so. "Let's get going."

I picked up my bag and slipped past him, out into the hallway, ignoring the wary glance he gave me.

…

Was it just last week that this long, drab cafeteria had seemed so killingly dull to me? That it had seemed almost like sleep, like a coma, to be here?

Today my nerves were stretched tight—piano wires, tensed to sing at the lightest pressure. My senses were hyper-alert; I scanned every sound, every sight, every movement of the air that touched my skin, every thought. Especially the thoughts. There was only one sense that I kept locked down, refused to use. Smell, of course. I didn't breathe.

"We should be cool to sit in our regular spot," Archie said, his voice sort of hollow.

I rolled my eyes as we stepped through the doors to the wide room. "Give it a rest, Archie," I groaned, "Of _course_ we'll sit in our typical spot."

Archie ignored me, continuing to throw his mind into the future, scanning.

"Stop it," I snapped, nudging him with my elbow as we reached our table, "You're driving me nuts. I'm _fine_."

Archie slumped into his seat, his eyes focusing on my face. "You know, I think you're right."

I let the low rumble of a growl rise up in my throat. "Of course I am," I said through gritted teeth.

Jess caught my eye as I slumped my chin into my hand.

 _Annoying, isn't it?_ She smirked wryly.

"Incredibly."

As I again turned my focus to the thoughts of the children around me, I was surprised to find that there was still no news about the boy. I knew the male humans didn't tend to confide in each other too much, but I had safely assumed he would have at least asked someone about my stand-offish attitude from the week before. He'd obviously been intimidated by my murderous glare—both in the biology classroom, and the front office after the bell—but it seemed, though many were still transfixed on the boy, that he'd told nobody about our strange confrontation.

Not to mention, he'd _witnessed_ me attempt to get out of our shared class together. Surely he must have assumed he had something to do with it. Humans' confidence was frail in that way.

But there were no suspicious glances our way, no quiet musings about our group. The students around me carried on as if Beau Swan had said absolutely nothing.

Had he genuinely not?

"Any new developments?" Jess inquired.

"Nothing." My voice sounded toneless with shock, "He must not have talked to anyone."

Each of them shared my surprise, Jess's eyebrows shooting high on her forehead.

Eleanor snickered. "Hate to break it to ya, little sis, but you're just not as intimidating as you think you are." She leaned over to loop her first finger and thumb around my bicep—though slim in radius, it was still hard and worked through with hard, unyielding muscle.

"Not everybody has to be built like a Sports Illustrated model to be intimidating, El," I returned, showing her the tip of my tongue.

"He's gonna look over here in a sec," Archie warned us, "Act human."

On immediate cue, El burst into loud guffaws, pointing at me and snickering as if my snide reply had been the funniest thing she'd ever heard, though there was a mocking edge to her laughter.

The rest of us joined right on in, purely for the sake of the façade. I was going to slug that girl later. Of course, I'd have to surreptitious about it.

I focused all of my attention on our grouping, sure my grin didn't look entirely natural on my face, but I could feel that magnetic pull again, that unexplainable urge, toward where I knew the boy stood waiting in the cafeteria line.

I was keeping tabs on Jeremy Stanley's thoughts, and heard the impatient tenor of them when he tried and failed to get Beau's attention. Through his mind, I could see Beau's profile, the straight bridge of his nose, the subtle fullness to his lips, his thick, dark lashes… He was staring toward our table, distracted by our playful banter. Also, in Jeremy's thoughts, I could see the inviting patches of blood rush under the boy's thin skin.

I kept my teeth locked, pulling short, shallow breaths through my nose—prepared to stop breathing if his scent crossed my path.

McKayla Newton was with the two boys. I heard both her voices, mental and verbal, when she asked Jeremy what was wrong with the Swan boy. I didn't like the way her thoughts wrapped around him, the flicker of ill-presumed possessiveness that clouded her mind while she watched him start and look up from his reverie like he'd forgotten she was there.

"Nothing," he said quickly, his voice breaking subtly. I heard the clatter of soda bottles and the staggering stumble of his feet as he rushed to catch up to the end of the line-up.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jeremy inquired.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," Beau mumbled.

Immediate concern flickered to life in McKayla Newton's thoughts, and that same edge of territorial ownership. It bothered me, the way she thought about the boy. As if he belonged to her, when clearly, he didn't.

They finished up and selected a table to sit at, and I forced my shoulders not to follow the boy's movements.

Archie nudged me. _He's going to look soon, act human._

I clenched my teeth behind my grin.

"Ease up, Edythe," El said. "Honestly. So you kill one human. That's hardly the end of the world."

"You would know," I griped.

Eleanor laughed, unbothered by my jab. "You've got to learn to get over things. Like I do. Eternity is a long time to wallow in guilt."

Just then, Archie tossed a smaller handful of ice that he'd been hiding into Eleanor's unsuspecting face.

She blinked, totally surprised, and I burst into laughter at her wide-eyed shock, genuinely pleased and humored. The rest of them joined in as well, and it didn't take long for El's expression to melt into one of good humor.

Royal gritted his teeth in surprise when El, her hair still saturated from the snow fight we'd joined in on outside before coming in, swung her ponytail in a wide arc, the wet iciness splattering across the table. The snow in our hair melted slower, due to our low body temperature. But the heat in the room from the bodies around us was enough to take effect now.

I could see in Archie's head how he'd planned out this perfect scene, and I knew that Beauwould be watching us laugh and banter, looking as happy and human and unrealistically ideal as a Norman Rockwell painting.

… _staring at Edythe again…_

Automatically, my face turned toward the mental call of my name, sliding right past the owner of the thoughts and settling on Beau's face.

A second too late, he revolved away from my sights, shifting his shoulders completely in Jeremy's direction, who looked a little askance at Beau's sudden closeness.

I didn't avert my eyes, staring with great concentration at the boy's profile. I had never had to try so hard to read someone's thoughts, never had to try at all in fact, and to do so now was surprisingly taxing, and frustrating. I pushed against the wall in his mind as hard as I could, but it did not recede. There was nothing but silence.

In my periphery, Jeremy glanced over Beau's shoulder toward me. I ignored him and kept my eyes on Beau, focusing.

"Edythe Cullen is staring at you," the boy stated.

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" Beau's voice was low, embarrassed, and I felt a pang of remorse. So he _had_ noticed my rude behavior the week before. And yet, still he'd confided in no one… Strange.

"No." Jeremy was bemused. "What did you do, ask her out?" The friendly teasing wasn't entirely teasing… Jeremy had a hard time imagining my acquiescence to anything of the sort.

"No!" Beau blurted, red splotches rising up his neck again, "I've never even talked to her. I just… don't think she likes me very much."

"The Cullens don't like anybody," Jeremy told him off-handedly, "Well… they don't notice anybody enough to like them." _At least they never used to…_ "But she's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at her," Beau ordered with as much conviction as he could muster. It was almost comical. He was barely a threat to the Stanley child, let alone anyone else.

Jeremy chuckled, but did as Beau asked, unable to shake the goose bumps and instinctual aversion he felt when he looked our way.

…

"So… what's the plan?"

The cafeteria was almost empty, but I did not move from my seat. Would I go to class, sit beside the boy where I could smell the absurdly potent scent of his blood and feel the warmth of his pulse in the air on my skin? Was I strong enough for that? Or had I had enough for one day?

"I think you'll be okay, Edy… You'll probably make it through the hour."

"Why push it, Edythe? Take it easy for the day; pace yourself."

"What's the big deal? Either she eats him or she doesn't. Might as well go and get the inevitable over with."

None of their words helped me. I was totally and completely on the fence. On the one hand, I wanted very badly to be confident, self-assured, to go to class and to face the situation head on. On the other hand, I didn't want to push myself, didn't want to ruin things for my family. Royal didn't say a word, but he didn't want to leave town. He thought it was too soon, and he was almost to the end of his umpteenth high school career.

I didn't want to be the one to force my family from where we were. I didn't want to be the reason we had to flee, like some criminals from the FBI.

But I wanted to go to class. I wanted to see his face. I wanted to know what he was thinking. His mind was closed, but his eyes were very open. Perhaps I could read them instead.

"I'm going." I stood abruptly, slinging my bag across my shoulder and smoothing down the wide lapel of my jacket.

My family looked up at me. Royal looked the most hesitant. He didn't like playing with fire, and El, in comparison, was shockingly blasé.

Archie stood, too. "I'm ninety-three percent sure you won't kill him today," he told me, casting me a curious glance. He wondered what had firmed up my decision so much, when before, the odds had been much lower, closer to fifty-fifty.

I ignored his gaze and turned away from them. "I'll see you later," I said, and headed out into the rain.

As I crossed the grounds toward the biology building, I took deep, cleansing breaths, allowing the moist air—which had now turned to rain—to swirl in my lungs, reveling in the fresh cleanness of it.

I paused outside the classroom door, squaring my shoulders and calling to mind the image of my confident self. Then I closed off my airways and stepped through the door.

Beau was already in his seat, doodling without seemingly much thought on the cover of his notebook. Shapeless swirls and loops. I could find no rhythm to it as I glanced over his shoulder on my way past.

I pulled the chair out next to him, purposefully allowing the metal legs to scrape against the linoleum, so he would hear my approach. The muscles in his shoulders clenched just marginally, but immediately relaxed. He didn't look up.

Perhaps, if I could get to know the boy a bit, it would help my cause. After all, it had been curiosity about Beau that had firmed up Archie's visions of me. If I knew the boy as a person, perhaps I'd stop seeing him so much as prey. I knew he was probably frightened of me, and a strange instinct welled up inside me. I didn't want him to think of me that way. I wanted to leave him with a better impression of myself.

So I arranged my features into a friendly expression and spoke: "Hello."

His head jerked up, eyes skittering to my face. Up close, and really looking, I could see just how blue his eyes were. Like the daytime sky, which I missed so much. For conspicuous reasons, we could not venture out into the sunlight, and I ached for blue sky much too often. But it didn't seem so far off now, looking into Beau Swan's eyes.

I could feel every one of his heartbeats reverberate through the air, pushing against my skin.

 _Careful,_ I reminded myself.

"My name is Edythe Cullen," I continued when I knew I'd gained his attention, though he was still staring blankly, "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan."

It took him a minute to answer me, and the question came out uneven, in lurches and drags. "H-how do you know my name?"

I felt a tinge of guilt when I realized how much I must have scared him last week. Careful of my teeth, I laughed gently, a sound I knew usually put humans at ease. "Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

Abruptly he frowned, the shade of his irises shifting just so, and I wondered, desperately, what he was thinking. It hadn't been the reaction I'd been expecting.

"No," he said, "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"

"Do you prefer Beaufort?" I questioned, confused. He'd corrected everyone when they'd called him that last week. I was a little lost.

" _Absolutely_ not, but I think Charlie—I mean, my dad—must call me that behind my back—that's what everyone here seems to know me as."

I realized my mistake immediately. I'd been catering to thoughts rather than the social norm—which would have assumed the longer name.

"Oh." I looked away awkwardly, toward the front of the classroom, glad that Mrs. Banner started class just then.

I had used up all the air in my lungs, and if we were going to speak to him anymore, I would have to garner more air. Mrs. Banner was explaining the lab we would be doing today, and Beau was watching her with much more interest than was normal.

I braced myself, locking my muscles in place, and turned my face away without shifting in my seat too noticeably. I inhaled through my mouth alone, the air whistling between my teeth.

Ahh! It was acutely agonizing. Though I could not smell him, I could still taste his essence on the back of my tongue, unbearably sweet, and the flame storm swirled in my throat once more, the temptation just as strong as it had been the first day. The animal trashed against my ribcage, begging to be let out.

I forced composure. I could do this. I was strong. I was confident. I would not let this boy and his absurdly sweet blood drive me from the place I wanted to be.

Mrs. Banner gave us the go ahead to get started with the mitosis laboratory assignment.

"Ladies first, partner?" I asked Beau, pulling my lips up in a smile I hoped would put him at ease. After all, he still seemed frightened of me, and I wanted to change that conception, no matter how well-placed it was.

Beau looked up at me for a moment, and then his face went abruptly slack. Was there something off in my expression? Was he frightened again? He didn't speak.

I lifted an eyebrow.

"Uh, sure, go ahead," he sputtered, taking the hint.

Inviting spots of blood rushed into his face, and I gazed at them a moment too long, warring against the temptation they elicited… I jerked my face away, forcing my attentions on the battered microscope in front of me, and the box of slides next to it.

I clicked the first into place and glanced through the viewfinder swiftly.

"Prophase," I reported and moved to clip the slide out of the base. I paused, glancing up at him. I was used to taking matters into my own hands. This lab was old news—I could achieve it with perfect clarity with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. But it occurred to me that he, in any case, had an education to acquire. "Or did you want to check?" I asked him.

"Uh, no, I'm good."

I picked up my pencil and wrote down the term in the correct box on the worksheet, and then moved onto the second slide. I entered _Anaphase_ into the worksheet smoothly, and then replaced the second slide with the third. I was settling in to the easy routine, trying not to think about the fiery thirst too hard, trying not to speak unless it were absolutely necessary, I almost didn't notice Mrs. Banner's thoughts from the front of the room.

 _Oh, for goodness sake, girl. Give the boy a chance to learn._

"Miss. Cullen?" she called.

Deftly, I slid the microscope across the table, toward Beau. The heat of his skin emanated onto my hand with impressive strength, though we did not touch, and I drew it back quickly.

"Perhaps you should let Mr. Swan have an opportunity to learn?"

"Of course, Mrs. Banner," I obliged, and I turned toward Beau. I was out of air again, and I forced a shallow breath through my teeth. Ah!

When he just sat there, I gave him a look, which I hoped he'd respond to. Mrs. Banner was still watching out of the corner of her eye as she moved down the aisle on the opposite end of the room.

He leaned forward to glance through the eyepiece. Sitting beside him was like sitting next to a heat lamp. I could feel myself warming slightly to the higher temperature.

"Metaphase," he said after a short moment.

"Do you mind if I look?" I interrupted him, unthinkingly reaching out to grasp his hand as he made to remove the slide. For one second, the heat of his skin burned into mine. It was like an electric pulse—surely much hotter than a mere ninety-eight point six degrees. The heat shot through my hand and up my arm. He jerked his hand out from underneath mine almost immediately.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, mortified. Needing somewhere to look, I grasped the microscope and stared briefly into the eyepiece. He was right.

"Metaphase," I agreed, and then slid the microscope back toward him, careful not to touch him this time. What had I been thinking, reaching out to touch him like that? What was _he_ thinking? Was he absolutely repulsed by our obvious difference?

I dragged short breaths through my mouth, the pain like daggers in my throat, and watched him attempt to exchange the slides. Clumsily, he fumbled them both. One bounced safely onto the table, and the other went over the edge.

I reached out unthinkingly to catch it, though I had known I'd moved too quickly. I was usually better controlled around humans, but there was something about this Beau Swan that made me want to act… well, naturally.

"Ugh," he exhaled, and his breath burst in a succulent cloud around me, "Sorry."

Surprisingly, I found the situation hysterical, and I found myself fighting back laughter as I responded.

"Well, the last is no mystery, regardless."

I scrawled _Metaphase_ and _Telophase_ into the last two boxes on the worksheet.

We were the first ones finished with the lab, by a long shot. Many of the students had their books open underneath the table, cheating. Others were simply stumped, their minds wide, blank spaces, and I couldn't imagine what was so difficult about the assignment. But then, I had done this lab dozens of times.

We had nothing left to do but sit there, and once more, I found my attentions drifting to his face, to those clear blue eyes. What did he think of me? I wondered. Truly? And why hadn't he said anything to anyone while I'd been gone? I stared, trying to determine the secrets in those eyes…

Those eyes, which were suddenly locked on mine.

I stared back at him, trying to guess even one of those secrets.

"Did you get contacts?" he blurted.

The question had come out of nowhere, and it took me completely off-guard. "No." My tone was perplexed.

"Oh," he muttered, clearly nonplussed, "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

It dawned on me then, suddenly. Of course there was something different about my eyes. The first time he'd seen me, they'd been flat black with thirst. Now, well fed, they'd shifted back to their usual honey color. But I was surprised. No human had ever noticed that about any of us before. They'd never gotten close enough…

At a loss on what to say, I shrugged and cast my eyes away.

I'd messed up again, made _another_ error in the presence of this boy in just under twenty minutes, and the realization had me clenching my hands into fists, tense. Apparently, I was not the only one attempting to ferret out secrets today.

Mrs. Banner approached our table, and I welcomed the tide of fresh air she brought with her. I sucked a lungful of safe air in gratefully.

"So, Edythe—"

"Beau identified half of the slides," I interjected.

Mrs. Banner turned her eyes on the boy next to me, her thoughts doubtful. "Have you done this lab before?"

He shrugged. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

She nodded, impressed. She'd pulled this assignment from a more advanced syllabus. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

He was advanced then, more intelligent than the average human. This did not surprise me. His eyes said as much, and his quick assumptions about me kept me on my toes.

"Well," Mrs. Banner murmured, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." She turned and strode away intoning under her breath, "So the other kids can get a chance to learn something for themselves." I doubted the boy could hear that.

When I turned my attentions back on Beau, he was doodling again, scrawling inarticulate shapes once more.

Again, I fixed my sights on changing the boy's first impressions of me. Just what did he suspect? I had no way of reading his thoughts, obviously, so I went about it the next best way.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Small talk was hardly the way, but I knew from experience that humans felt more at ease starting off conversations this way.

"Not really," he muttered.

"You don't like the cold," I assumed safely. The distaste was clear on his face, and this perplexed me.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live." _Perhaps you should not have_ _come here,_ I wanted to add. _Perhaps you should go back where you belong._

"You have no idea," he said darkly, and this piqued my confusion even more.

"Why did you come here then?" I demanded, and the curiosity was apparent in my tone. I couldn't hide it. If he hated it so much here, preferred the sun so much more, why had he exiled himself to a place where the sun hardly ever shone? I couldn't figure it out.

"It's… complicated," he said, averting his gaze.

"I think I can keep up." In fact, I knew I could.

For a minute, I didn't think he was going to answer me, he stayed silent for so long. Then he turned his eyes on me again, and the words came tumbling out, almost too quickly.

"My mother got remarried."

"That doesn't sound so complex," I argued, surmising something must have gone wrong there. An issue with the step-father, possibly? It was the only reason I could see why he would have felt the need to leave. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." He sounded glum, and I felt immediate sympathy for the boy. It must have been difficult. His melancholy left me feeling oddly vulnerable, wishing there was something I could do to make him feel better. A foreign, unfamiliar compulsion.

"And you don't like him," I assumed.

His answer surprised me: "No, Phil is fine. A little young, maybe, but he's a good guy."

"Why didn't you stay with them?" I was being, perhaps, just a tad too curious, but I couldn't help it. This didn't fit with the assumption I'd formerly made about the boy, and I wanted to find out more.

"Phil travels most of the time," he went on to explain, "He plays ball for a living." The hint of a fond smile tugged at his lips, and unconsciously, I felt my own lips turning up in response. His smile just made me want to smile in response—to be in on the secret.

"Have I heard of him?"

"Probably not," he said, "He doesn't play _well_. Just minor league. He moves around a lot."

Ah, it was becoming clearer now, the answer obvious. "And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him."

I was surprised when he squared his shoulders, his tone a tad affronted. "No, she didn't. I sent myself."

I was confused again, and I felt my brow furrow, completely lost. So I conceded defeat. There was just no making sense of the boy. He wasn't like other humans. Maybe the silence of his reflections and the aroma of his scent were not the only unusual things about him.

"I don't understand," I admitted, and I felt frustrated with myself for this fact. There wasn't much I didn't understand, couldn't glean, from the human race. There was hardly anything unique in the minds around me, anymore. But the one mind I _couldn't_ read, of course, would be the one that was.

He sighed, and his breath washed over my face, though we were sitting quite far apart. Just as I had begun to relax, I was on high alert again, muscles clenching, throat burning, mouth flooding with venom… I swallowed it down and focused on his words.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie."

"But now you're unhappy." The words were safe to assume. His tone had not masked his discontent.

"And?" he responded, as if in challenge.

I watched him for a minute, feeling I'd suddenly gleaned the first glimpse into his soul. He was incredibly selfless for a boy his age, and as I realized this, the mystery of Beau Swan diluted, just a little.

"That doesn't seem fair."

He laughed once, the sound vacant of amusement. "Haven't you heard? Life isn't fair."

I wanted to laugh at his words, though I, too, felt no real amusement. I knew a little something about the unfairness of life. "I believe I _have_ heard that somewhere before."

I didn't take my eyes off him, and he fidgeted under my gaze after a minute.

"So that's it," he said.

I felt my head tilt to the side, watching him fixedly. I wasn't ready to let the conversation end; I had more theories about him.

"You put on a good show," I told him, "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

He shrugged. "I repeat… And?"

That confirmed my suspicions, which made me even more curious about the boy.

"I don't entirely understand you, that's all."

"Why would you want to?" he inquired, frowning.

"That's a very good question," I responded, almost more to myself than to him. Why _should_ it matter, the insipid details of this human boy's life? Why did I care so much? What did I find so interesting about him? The fact that his mind was silent to me couldn't be all. But again, it should not matter. I shouldn't be concerning myself with simple human lives. It was reckless and irresponsible.

I stared at the boy, trying to read as much as I could in his eyes, for they were the most open part of him.

And then he looked away, toward the front of the room, and I was cut off.

I sighed, frustrated, and his eyes flashed back to my face.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "Did I… Am I annoying you?"

I shook my head and smirked. "No, if anything, I'm annoyed with myself." And here, I'd thought I was so perceptive, so intuitive about others. When it had clearly been due to my mind-reading capabilities. I wasn't nearly as insightful as I gave myself credit for.

"Why?" he inquired.

"Reading people… it usually comes very easily to me. But I can't—I guess I don't know quite what to make of you." I paused, examining the amused smile on his lips. "Is that funny?"

The smile disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, and a part of me felt disappointed for it. It was assuring, to see him act comfortably around me. Internally, I chided myself. I should not allow myself to feel happy at the boy's comfort. I should have been doing everything I could to avoid his company.

"More… unexpected," he explained, "My mom always calls me her open book. According to her, you can all but read my thoughts printing out across my forehead."

I concentrated for half a minute, in spite of myself. Nothing.

I smirked. "I suppose I've gotten overconfident."

This clearly threw him. "Uh, sorry?"

I laughed, the sight of his confusion strangely appealing. At that moment, Mrs. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned toward her, away from Beau's bemused expression.

…

I recognized the fascination growing inside me, though I'd never experienced anything quite like it before. Despite its welcoming feeling, I tried to root it out. I could not afford to find Beau Swan interesting. Or rather, _he_ could not afford that. Already, I was anxious for another chance to talk to him. I wanted to know more about his relationship with his mother, which seemed unusual for a boy of his age. He seemed strangely close to her, and had spoken of her with such affection. I wanted to know more about his life before he came here, his relationship with his father, which I already knew couldn't be very strong. He'd spent very little time with him up until now; all the meaningless details that would flesh out his character further. But every second I spent with him was a mistake, a risk he shouldn't have to take.

No, I could not afford to find him captivating. The more interesting I found him, the more likely it was that I would kill him. I'd already made two minimal slips today. Would I make a third, one that was _not_ inconsequential?

Eleanor was waiting for me outside Mr. Goff's Spanish class, and she was immediately curious.

 _How did it go_?

"I didn't kill him," I murmured as I slipped past her, into the classroom.

"Well, that's something," she snickered, all too casual, as she followed me inside and hung her jacket on the peg by the door.

I sighed, running my fingers through my hair to brush it out of my face. "I guess so."

"Maybe it will get easier," she suggested reassuringly as we took our seats. We were the first students to arrive, and we spoke quietly. "Or maybe not," she continued.

I flinched at her thoughts, at the image of me, slumped over Beau's limp, lifeless body, eyes glowing red. She blinked the thought away. I was appalled by her acceptance of the idea that I would kill the boy, that this was somehow inevitable. It wasn't his fault that he smelled so good. Why should he suffer for that unavoidable occurrence?

…

 **A/N:** I would love to know what you all thought of this chapter! Leave me some love! xo


	3. Phenomenon

**A/N:** Hello, lovely readers! This chapter was thanks to much inspiration from 'Magnets (feat. Lorde)' by Disclosure and 'This Love (Will Be Your Downfall) by Ellie Goulding. Hope you enjoy this next chapter! :)

…

In light of my revelations from earlier in the day—the boy did not deserve to suffer for something he could not control—I decided to go hunting again that night.

Carine darted alongside me in the forest, quiet and contemplative. We hadn't been alone since our conversation in short prelude to my stay in Denali, and she was bringing it to mind now.

I could see my face in her memory, wild with torment, riddled with indecision and anxiety.

 _"Edythe?"_ She'd at once been alarmed and panicked at my distraught appearance.

 _"I have to go, Carine, I have to go now."_

 _"What's happened?"_

 _"Nothing. Yet. But it will if I stay."_

She'd reached out to touch my hand. I had known how it had pained her when I'd flinched away from her.

" _I don't understand."_

" _Have you ever... has there ever been a time..."_

I watched myself take a deep breath, saw the wild light in my eyes through the filter of her grave fretfulness for her simultaneously oldest and youngest daughter.

" _Has any one person ever smelled better to you than the rest of them?_ Much _better?"_

" _Oh."_

When I'd known that she comprehended, I had ducked my head in revolted self-loathing and shame. She'd reached out to touch me, ignoring it when I'd recoiled again, and took my hand in hers.

" _Do what you must to resist, Edythe. I will miss you. Here, take my car. It's faster."_

She was wondering now if she'd done the right thing then, sending me away. Wondering if she hadn't hurt me with her lack of trust.

"Of course not," I whispered in the darkness as we ran, "I needed to leave at the time. I worry to think what would have happened if you had told me you'd trusted me enough to stay; what I might have done." I suppressed a shudder of horror.

"It distresses me to see you suffer, Edythe," she spoke apologetically, as if my pain was hers, "You must do what you can to keep the Swan boy safe. If you must leave again, in order to resist the temptation…" She didn't understand why I had come back, if it was still so difficult for me to be here.

"I don't want to be a coward." I barely whispered the insufficient explanation.

She mulled this over and slowed. I slowed with her. "Better to be safe than to have regrets," she said now, "He'll be gone in a couple of years anyway. The blink of an eye in our world of time."

I couldn't explain the spark of panic that lit up inside me when she said that. Gone in two years… It made me unexplainably more anxious to stay.

"We'll come with you, of course. You only need ask. You've moved on without complaint for the rest of them. They won't begrudge you this."

"I know that," I murmured, unable to meet her gaze.

Her next words were gentle, but supremely grave: "Better to leave now, than to wait until a life has been accidentally taken."

I flinched. "Yes." The word was hardly a breath.

She could see I was not convinced, and she watched me with perplexed contemplation. She knew there was more to my situation than I was telling her, that I was hiding something. She reached out to touch my wrist.

"What is it, daughter?" she inquired, "What keeps you here, despite the danger?"

I sighed. "I'm not sure I can explain it to you correctly… I can't even explain it to myself…"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she acquiesced, though her curiosity was still great, "I will respect your privacy if you so wish."

I sighed and lifted my eyes to hers, my mother, the woman I respected more than words could say. I was exceedingly grateful for her, for her unrelenting forgiveness, for her unrepentant compassion. "Thank you." I flipped my arm over so that our palms met, and I squeezed her hand once.

…

The temperature dropped significantly in the early morning hours, and when we returned to the house, the melted snow from the day previous had refrozen. It was as if a thin sheet of glass covered everything—each pine needle, each fern frond, each blade of grass was iced over. The patterns were spectacularly beautiful, and though my feet found perfect purchase and precision on the frozen ground, I knew that most of the human populace would not be so lucky. They hardly held a candle to the flame of our sense of equilibrium.

Carine went ahead of me to shower and dress for work. I sat by the river, staring into the stream with no small amount of frustration. I felt absolutely stuffed to the brim, not an ounce of thirst remaining. My body felt swollen, as if the blood had given me some sort of vampiric edema. I knew, though I felt no urge to feed now, that this would all change when I sat beside Beau Swan in fifth period biology class in just a few hours.

Carine was right. I _should_ leave. It was ludicrous to think I could succeed in this endeavor… What was I trying to prove? Beau Swan would go on with his life, happily oblivious to the dangerous fiend that had once desired his blood with murderous passion. He would graduate, go to college, get married, have children… Children with beautiful, clear blue eyes…

It was odd, the pain that thought caused me. I couldn't understand it. Was I jealous, because he had a future that I could never have? That made no sense. Every one of the humans around me had that same potential ahead of them—a life—and I rarely stopped to envy them.

Was it simply due to my strange interest in the human boy? Was it really only because I couldn't read his thoughts that he interested me so much? I thought back to our conversation yesterday, at how riveting his seemingly simple life had been to me, and a chord of sadness struck me when I pictured myself leaving.

But I would. I would need to leave him to his life.

I watched the sun rise behind the clouds, trying to convince myself of the fact.

…

 _You're leaving again._ Archie's mental tone was accusatory and disappointed, in my doorway.

I glanced over my shoulder, having just pulled a thick cashmere sweater on over my head. I didn't need the heavy material to keep me warm—but I did need to pretend I needed it.

"Yes."

 _Where to? I can't see…_

Images blurred in his mind, indistinct and scattered.

"I'm not sure yet." I adjusted the collar of the shirt I wore underneath the sweater, so that it sat smartly against the neckline. "At any rate, I have to do what's right."

Archie stepped into the room. "There are many different views of what's wrong and what's right, Edy."

For a brief moment he was lost in one of his strange visions; I watched along with him as the indistinct images swirled and danced. I saw myself mixed in with strange shadows that I couldn't make out—hazy, imprecise shapes. And then, suddenly, my skin was glittering in the bright sunlight of a small open meadow, perfectly round in shape. This was a place I knew. There was a figure in the meadow with me, but, again, it was indistinct, not _there_ enough to recognize. The images shivered and disappeared as a million tiny choices rearranged the future again.

"I didn't catch much of that," I told him when the vision fizzled out.

 _I didn't either. Your future is changing every second; it's driving me nuts. I can't keep up. But I'm pretty sure…_

He stopped, and he flipped through a vast assemblage of other recent images for me. They were all the same—out-of-focus and elusive.

"I _think_ something is changing, though," he said out loud. "Your life seems to be at a crossroads."

I laughed. "That's great. Now I _really_ feel like I'm in a circus."

Archie rolled his eyes at me and then turned to go back downstairs. _I'll leave it up to you to tell the others._

"Thanks."

He slipped through my doorway, disappearing into the hallway, and his receding thought was tender: _I'll miss you, Edy. Truly._

I sighed. "Miss you too, Arch."

…

My brothers and sisters could not understand the strange appeal this human boy held for me, and they did not hang around once we got to school, all except for Archie. He cast a long glance at Jess's back before he planted his feet beside me.

I knew it was wrong, but I wanted to wait for Beau to arrive, so that… What? I could talk to him? Did I hope he would approach me?

The distinct rumble of his truck wasn't far off now, and a moment later he came into view, bending around the curve of the road. His was so _serious_ , his hands so tight on the steering wheel, all the blood had drained away from his knuckles, leaving them bone white. For a minute, his expression was comical and yet confusing, until I realized that all the humans were wearing similar expressions today. It was icy out, and each one of them was taking extra care to drive with caution.

He turned slowly into the lot and parked in one of the first available stalls, across the lot from us. I kept my eyes fixed on his, but he did not look up at me. I watched him gather his bag, hiking it over a shoulder, and then he exited the cab carefully. His left hand did not leave the edge of the truck bed, and he was holding just as tightly to it as he had been the steering wheel.

Something had caught his eye, and he was moving toward it now with slow, measured steps. I noticed, suddenly, how uncoordinated he was. His boots were sliding all over the place, and I found myself giggling quietly. The boy was surprisingly clumsy.

I watched him lean over slightly to examine the snow chains on his tires, and then he frowned, brows crinkling, and the strangest expression crossed his face. I was still trying to figure it out when Archie gasped.

"No!"

His premonition flooded in just a half a second before the actual incident, and I watched with him as Taylor would take the turn too sharply into the parking lot, still going too fast. She wouldn't slow enough, and her van tires would lose traction in a quarter of a second, and the vehicle would go careening across the lot, to crash into the back corner of Beau's truck. I was sure the sturdy looking vehicle could take it. The human boy standing in between, however…

His face snapped up and his eyes locked on mine for a fraction of a second, wide and horror struck, and oh-so-blue.

 _Not him!_ was the only thing I could think.

I acted without thinking of the consequences. My family and I could deal with the suspicions later. Right now, there was only one thing that mattered: I needed to get to Beau, and I needed to get him out of the path of that van.

I launched myself across the space of the parking lot, throwing myself between the reeling, out of control van, and the boy who stood in its path, frozen in shock. He didn't see me—no human eyes could have followed my flight—still staring at the hulking shape that was about to grind his body into the metal frame of his truck.

My arms closed around him mid-stride, and we crashed to the ground together. I mostly caught his fall, but hadn't had enough time to pre-meditate my motions, hadn't thought to be as gentle as he would have needed me to be. His head cracked against the icy pavement loudly, and the van had rebounded off the corner of the truck and was coming back toward us, like Beau really did hold some gravitational pull inside him, and I hadn't been the only one in its orbit.

"Come _on_!" I hissed, exasperated. I released my grip from around the boy and threw my hands out in front of me, knowing I was risking exposure in this moment, not only for myself, but for my entire family. Of course, my pushing a van away from him wasn't going to help anything, but I couldn't just do _nothing_!

The van slammed into my palms, the weight of it vaulting my frame backward into the tan car we'd landed behind. I felt the shape of my shoulders sink into the side of it. The van shuddered and shivered against the unyielding obstacle of my arms, and then swayed, balancing unstably on the two far tires.

So it was stopped, but if I let it go, Beau's legs were lying right there, and the tires were going to crush them!

Oh, for the love of all that is _holy…_

I pushed the van away from me just enough so that it rocked back on its far tires, giving me enough time to re-orient my hands, and then it swayed back, and I caught underneath its body with my right hand, slipping my other arm underneath Beau's arms and dragging him out of the van's place of trajectory.

His body moved so limply I was abruptly terrified I'd done more damage than the van might have.

I let the vehicle drop now, all of its windows shattering at precisely the same moment, glass raining down on the asphalt around us. Beau did not move, and I leaned over him, my arm still around him, holding him tightly to my side—it felt safer this way.

Potent relief flooded me when I saw that his eyes were open—staring wide in shock, but they were open.

"Beau?" my voice sounded panicked, "Beau, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he responded automatically, but the words sounded strange and wobbly, more like a question.

He stayed very still for a moment, and then he struggled against my grasp.

"Be careful," I told him severely, "I think you hit your head pretty hard." I smelled no fresh blood, and that was a relief, but there was no telling what kind of internal damage I had done. His pupils seemed responsive, but still, I wouldn't feel okay until I had gotten him to the hospital and the whole nine yards of radiology equipment.

"Ow," he said hollowly.

The relief of the situation had me finding the comment hilarious, and I pressed my lips together to restrain my laughter.

"That's what I thought."

"How in the…" he trailed off, still sounding stunned, but gaining hold of himself now, "How did you get over here so fast?"

My amused mood cut off shortly. He _had_ noticed too much, and nothing was funny about that.

"I was standing right next to you, Beau," I lied fluidly.

He scrambled, trying to sit up, and this time I helped him. Once he was steady, I slid as far from him in the tiny space as I could. Every breath seared down my throat like wildfire, but I was almost grateful for it in this moment.

He stared into my eyes for a long, silent moment, seeming confused by my serious expression—only a liar would break eye contact in this moment—and then the students found us. The cacophony of thought and physical voice was incomparable. I examined the thoughts once to make sure there were no suspicions yet, and then tuned it out to refocus on Beau.

He was distracted by the insanity. He looked around; his expression was still stunned, and he tried to get to his feet.

I put my hand lightly on his shoulder to hold him down. I didn't want him moving if he'd been hurt, and he might still be in shock, not having noticed the extent of his injuries yet.

"Just stay put for now," I urged him.

"But it's cold," he said, and his tone sounded so absurdly petulant that abruptly I was filled with humor again, chuckling softly. Sure, the cold bothered him. But did the senselessness of what had just happened bother him at all? No…

"You were over there," he said now, suddenly serious. His tone was harder than before, more sure, and the blue of his irises was… Firmer. "You were by your car."

This evaporated the humor once more. "No, I wasn't." I tried as hard as I could to sound completely sure of myself, knowing he would never believe the lie if I didn't sound totally confident.

"I saw you."

"Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." I kept my eyes locked on his, willing him see how vital it was he let this go.

"But—that's not—what happened," he stuttered, seeming confused again.

" _Please,_ Beau." I fought the growing panic inside of me. It would only be a few minutes that I would need to keep him quiet. Then I could destroy the evidence and blame his absurd rationalizations on the head injury.

"Why?" he asked.

"Trust me?" And the desire was very strong, suddenly. I found I truly would have liked him to trust me, and not only because of what had just happened. It was an absurd notion.

"Will you explain everything to me later?"

It made me angry to have to lie to him again, when I so much wished that I could somehow deserve his trust. So, when I answered him, it was a retort.

"Fine."

"Okay," he mumbled, clearly thrown by my sudden bad mood, sounding more confused than ever.

It took an obscene amount of time to clear the van enough so that the paramedics could get through to us. I restrained the urge to help them. I didn't want to get in anymore trouble than I already had; and so that meant I would have to wait to smooth out the indentation my shoulders had made in the tan car, too. While we waited together in the cramped space, I took a moment to examine the minds around me more carefully. So far, there were no suspicious musings; only mere surprise when they saw me there with Beau. But they'd all concluded—as Beau stubbornly hadn't—that they just hadn't seen me standing so close to him.

I insisted the paramedics take extra caution regarding Beau's head, telling them he'd hit it pretty hard. I could still hear the reverberation of it cracking off the ice, echoing through my skull. I wouldn't rest until he'd had a complete work-up. I was chillingly terrified that I'd hurt him, though he was still acting okay as they put the neck brace on him and strapped him to the gurney. I used their rapt attention on Beau to smooth out the dent in the car with the sole of my boot.

Just before I climbed into the front seat, I caught sight of my brothers and sisters, standing just beyond the Volvo. Their careful eyes were fixed on me. Royal's thoughts were a blur of rage-filled profanity, and I avoided his curses. Archie was watching me warily, where he stood clutching Jessamine's hand. All of them were concerned about the risk I'd taken, about the possible mistake of exposure. Eleanor, at least, had forgiven my dangerous choice already, and I was grateful.

I wished I could reassure them that no one had doubted anything, but then on the same token, I was filled with self-righteous astuteness. What else could I have done but save the boy? If his blood had been spilled…

I shook the thoughts off, slammed the ambulance's passenger door behind me, and turned my face away from my siblings.

Chief Swan arrived then, just as they were loading Beau into the back. His thoughts were an incomprehensible blur of anxiety and panic and guilt. My head bowed underneath the weight of it, and I was glad I'd had enough strength to resist that first day. Charlie loved his son more than was normal for distant parents, and the thought that I'd almost taken Beau from him permanently weighed heavily on me.

It wasn't until Charlie turned to the closest EMT, demanding more information despite Beau's exasperated words of reassurance, that I realized that despite his anxiety, he was speaking in perfectly normal tone and sentence. His anxiety and concerns were not wordless… I just couldn't decipher them all.

Hmm, how interesting. Charlie's thoughts were not as silent as his son's, but I could see where Beau had inherited the blockage.

I didn't have too much time to dwell on it, for the ambulance was pulling away then.

…

It wasn't difficult to find my mother's familiar inner voice when we reached the hospital. I worried about leaving Beau's side, but as I strode down the familiar halls toward Carine's office, I found reassurance in the fact I could watch him through the paramedics' thoughts.

Brandy Warner, the EMT who had reached us first, was also a registered nurse, and she shifted seamlessly through the roles. I was glad she was one of the people to stay near him. I trusted her judgment and advanced technique.

When I opened the door to Carine's office, she was immediately rising behind her rich, walnut desk, face pale, lips in a tight line.

"Carine."

 _Edythe—you didn't—_

"No, no," I immediately assuaged her concern, "It's not that."

 _Of course not._ She shook her head, regaining her composure, noting my still-golden eyes. _Your eyes are unchanged, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I apologize._

"It's fine—however, he is injured, though not seriously."

"What happened?"

I rolled my eyes. "A stupid car accident. Wrong place, wrong time." Quickly, my words got away from me, rolling into one big ice-ball of anxiety over what could have happened, "But I couldn't just stand back and let it happen. I had to _do_ something—I couldn't just let the van crush him. I didn't know what—"

 _Slow down, Edythe,_ she interrupted me, _Start at the beginning._

I sighed, composing myself. "A van, Taylor Crowley's, hydro-planed across the ice. She was going too fast, took the corner into the lot too sharply. Archie saw it coming, but there wasn't enough time to do anything else but literally run across the lot and push him out of the way. No one noticed I hadn't been standing right next to him, except for Beau. He saw me standing by my car, on the opposite end of the parking lot, just before it happened. I had to stop the van, too, but again, no one saw that but him… He's exceptionally observant," I complained underneath my breath as an aside, "I know the risk I've taken, and I'm sorry for putting us in jeopardy…"

Carine was contemplative for a moment, and then she came to stand by me, squeezing my hand. "I understand, Edythe. You took the correct action, and I know it couldn't have been easy for you."

I looked up into her tender honey eyes, which were filled with total compassion and acceptance. Shame flooded through me. I did not deserve a mother as angelic as she. I couldn't keep anything from her, and so I added, "He knows… That something isn't quite right with me."

"We'll leave at a moment's notice," she said, "Just say the word and we're gone. Has he said anything to you?"

I shook my head, frustrated. "No, nothing yet. But…"

 _But?_

"He wants an explanation. He doesn't believe that things happened the way I said they did—which, they didn't, but… I don't think it will be difficult to discredit his account. When I knocked him to the ground, I slammed his head against the ice. He seems okay, but… With head injuries, memories can be misconstrued…" I felt horrible saying the words, horrible that I would use the truth against him this way.

"Maybe it won't come to that," Carine reassured me, walking to her coat tree to retrieve her doctor's jacket. "Let's see what happens, shall we? Sounds like I have a patient to check on."

"Please," I said with relief, "I'm so worried that I've hurt him."

Her affect brightened noticeably as she fixed her hair.

 _It's been a noteworthy day for you, hasn't it?_ In her mind, I could see the paradox, and it was humorous, at least to her. Quite the reversal of roles. Somewhere during that short heedless second when I'd torn across the frozen lot, I had transformed from killer to protector.

I laughed with her, remembering how sure I'd been that Beau would never need protecting from anything more than myself. There was an edge to my laugh because, van notwithstanding, that was still entirely true.

…

I isolated myself in Carine's office for the hour it took them to get Beau's x-ray results.

Most of the ER staff's attentions had turned to the driver of the van, Taylor Crowley. Her injuries seemed to be worse than Beau's, though that remained to be proven… Anxious again for his health, I fought the urge to go and see him. I couldn't. If he were to see my face, he would only want an explanation again, and I wasn't ready to give that yet.

I doubted the boy was bored, at any rate. Taylor seemed a willing enough conversationalist… I paid extra attention when the discussion turned to me.

 _"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone…"_ She was totally stumped.

 _"Umm…"_ Beau said haltingly, unsure, _"Edythe shoved me out of the way."_

I exhaled in relief. He seemed to be following my version of what had happened so far. And then my breathing accelerated. I'd never heard him say my name before, and I liked the way it sounded. It sent a thrill through me, and I wanted to hear it for myself… I was at the door, my hand on the knob, before I could think twice, and I froze, surprised at my actions.

I forced myself to take a seat.

 _"Who?"_ Taylor inquired.

 _"Edythe Cullen—?"_ Another thrill. _"She was standing next to me…"_ He didn't sound convincing to me, but Taylor didn't pick up on how bad a liar he was.

 _"Edythe?" Huh. That's weird. "I didn't see her…" I could have sworn… "Wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?"_

 _"I think so,"_ Beau responded, and I could see the thoughtful look that came over his expression now, through Taylor's thoughts. His eyes tightened, just so, with the aura of suspicion. _"She's here somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher."_

 _He's cute,_ Taylor was thinking now, getting a good look at him. The wide, clear lake of his eyes, the fullness of his lips—though the top was just slightly irregular with the bottom. This, however, was an observation I had made. Taylor Crowley's frail human eyesight was too poor to notice it. _Maybe I could convince him to take me to dinner, in lieu of an apology…_ Her thoughts turned mischievous, thinking of other things she could take instead of a formal apology…

I was surprised at the feelings that rose up in me in response to her thoughts. Annoyed… Even _angry_. It didn't matter what Taylor thought about the boy, what anyone else thought about the boy. I wouldn't be around much longer to hear those thoughts. This would be the last time he would be able to see me. I couldn't risk anymore revelation than I already had.

The realization panged achingly in my chest, and for a sudden moment, I felt surprisingly… human.

I couldn't battle the impatience any longer. I strode down the lengthy hallway and took the long way around to radiology, but by the time I got there—forced to walk at a brisk human's pace—Beau had already been taken back to the ER. I was, however, able to catch a glimpse of his X-rays, and relief flooded through me with such potency, it gave a strange sensation of weakness in my knees… Or the ghost of it, at least. Though I couldn't ever remember feeling anything like this in my human life. So weak, and so filled with vitality, all in the same moment.

His x-rays were clear. There were no fresh contusions. I hadn't injured him, after all.

 _You look better._

I said nothing in response to Carine's thoughts. We were in a crowded space, orderlies and visitors on every side. I just looked straight ahead.

 _Ah, yes._ She stuck his x-rays to the lightboard, but I didn't need a second look. _I see. He's absolutely fine. Well done, Edythe._

The sound of my mother's approval created a mixed reaction in me. I would have been pleased, except that I knew that she would not approve of what I was going to do now. At least, she would not approve if she knew my real motivations...

"I'm going to go speak with him, before you see him. Act… Blasé. Like nothing happened. Smooth things over?"

Carine nodded easily at my request, though it wasn't simple. It was unkind to ask others to lie for my mistakes. Her attention was diverted, and I turned to see what kept her attention on Beau's x-ray images.

 _Look at all the healed contusions! How many times did his mother drop him?_ Carine chuckled to herself at her little joke.

"I'm beginning to think that boy is just a magnet for very bad luck," I murmured darkly. Forks was definitely the wrong place for him, with me here.

 _Go,_ Carine urged, _Speak with the boy. I'll join you momentarily._

I strode away quickly.

When I walked through the doors to the emergency room, Taylor was doing a valiant job of keeping up her remorseful mumbling. It looked, however, as if Beau had feigned sleep in an attempt to tune her out. I knew he wasn't asleep. His breathing wasn't slow enough, and every once in awhile, his hand tightened over the bicep it was crossed over.

When Taylor saw me, she opened her mouth to speak, but I put a finger to my lips to silence her.

"Is he sleeping?" I inquired.

At the sound of my voice, his eyes flashed open, and he popped half-way up into a sitting position. They were wide for a moment, and then his expression slipped, once more, into a mask of indecision. The emotion turned his eyes a bright, unfathomable ocean color. I remembered I had a role to play, and I smiled at him like nothing out of the ordinary had happened this morning—besides a bonk to the head and a bit of a runaway with his imagination.

"Hey, um, Edythe, I'm really sorry—"

I lifted a hand to stop her. "No blood, no foul," I assured her, and then smiled too widely at my private joke.

It was appallingly easy to ignore Taylor, lying no more than four feet from me, covered in fresh blood. I'd never understood how Carine was able to do that—ignore the blood of her patients in order to treat them. Wouldn't the constant temptation be so distracting, so dangerous...? But, now... I could see how, if you were focusing on something else _hard_ enough, the temptation was nothing at all.

Even fresh and exposed, Taylor's blood had nothing on Beau's.

I kept my distance from him, seating myself on the foot of Taylor's mattress, and watching him with careful, assessing eyes. Yes, he would require an explanation. I braced myself for the part I would have to play.

"So what's the verdict?" I inquired of him.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he mumbled, "but they won't let me go. How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know." I could hear Carine's approach now. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Right on cue, Carine stepped into view, and I watched Beau's mouth literally fall open for a second before he gathered his wits and mashed his lips together. I sighed internally. Yes, he'd noticed the lack of contrast between us.

"So, Mr. Swan," she said upon her arrival at his bedside, perfectly gentle and unassuming, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he said immediately, sounding a little exasperated.

Carine clipped Beau's x-ray images to the lightboard and examined them once more. There was no need. Her recall was perfect.

"Your x-rays look good," she reported, "Does your head hurt? Edythe said you hit it pretty hard." There was just a touch of concern in her tone, but she was mostly just being gracious. She was sure he was fine.

"It's fine," he repeated, and threw me a quick, quizzical glance. I averted his gaze.

Carine prodded his skull gently, feeling for the lump under his hair. I noticed when he flinched. It didn't go unnoticed to her, either.

I was surprised by the wave of emotion that crashed over me.

I had seen Carine work with humans a thousand times. A few years ago, when it was no longer unusual for a female doctor to be in practice and she was able to stop working under the guise of a nurse, I had even assisted her informally—though only in situations where blood was not involved. So it wasn't a new thing to me, to watch her interact with the boy as if she were as human as he was. I'd envied her control many times, but that was not the same as this emotion. I envied her more than her control. I ached for the difference between Carine and me— that she could touch him so gently, without fear, knowing she would never harm him, being completely confident in that fact...

"Tender?" she queried.

"Not really."

So he was brave. He didn't like to show weakness. The fact that he wanted to seem so strong and mighty suddenly struck me as hilarious. Possibly the most vulnerable creature I'd ever seen, and he didn't want to seem weak. What was it about men and strength?

I couldn't hold back my chuckle.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

His father was here? I hadn't noticed his mental voice, and I concentrated now, probing in the direction of the waiting room. I couldn't pick it up.

"Can't I go back to school?" Something in Beau's expression looked pained, as if he were imagining something unpleasant.

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," I piped up.

"Actually—most of the school seems to be in the waiting room," Carine informed him.

I anticipated his reaction this time; I didn't think he would like the attention.

Beau groaned, looking mortified.

I allowed myself a small smile, feeling proud of myself. I was getting to know him.

"Do you want to stay?" Carine asked him, lifting her eyebrows in surprise at his aversion.

"No, no!" Beau threw his legs over the side of the bed and hopped down quickly. He staggered, and I was immediately on my feet, stepping forward, but Carine already had him securely by the shoulders, steadying him. Again, I was surprised at the strength of the jealousy that coursed through me.

"I'm fine," he said in answer to her concerned gaze.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain."

"It doesn't hurt that bad."

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Carine told him with a smile as she signed his chart.

"Lucky Edythe just happened to be standing next to me," he corrected her, glancing over at me again.

"Oh, well, yes," Carine said, preoccupying herself with the papers in front of her. _I'll leave this up to you, Edythe. Handle it as you see fit._ She read the same thing as I had in his voice—his suspicions were not entirely off the table.

Then she moved on to tend to Taylor Crowley.

Beau approached me, standing too close.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he murmured under his breath, and his breath washed over my face, the fragrance of his blood assaulting me once more. My temptation for him had not abated one bit, and I clenched my jaw, retreating a step.

"Your father is waiting for you," I told him through my teeth, using what breath I had left in my lungs. I did not breathe now.

Beau looked toward Carine and Taylor, and then turned his attention back to me. "I need to speak with you alone," he insisted.

Though I couldn't smell him now, I could feel, where he was standing too close to me, the heat of his body pressing in on me, shimmering in the air around me.

I had a show to put on now. I knew the role I would play—I had the character down: I would be the villain. I would lie and scorn and be harsh. It went against all my better impulses—the human impulses that I'd clung to through all these years. I'd never wanted to deserve trust more than in this moment, when I had to destroy all possibility of it.

It made it worse to know that this would be the last memory he would have of me. This was my farewell scene.

I turned to stalk out of the long room, in search of a vacant place where I could stage my play. I strode quickly, listening to the sound of his uneven, stumbling footsteps behind me as he struggled to keep up, though his legs were longer than mine.

I swerved into an empty hallway and whirled on him. He pulled up short, taken aback by my sudden halt.

"What do you want?" The words came out as harshly as I had wanted them to.

He was intimidated, I could see that. He faltered a minute, those blue eyes wide.

"You owe me an explanation." His words sounded more confident than he looked.

It was very difficult, to carry on the cruel crusade. "I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."

He physically flinched. "Why are you acting like this?"

Because I could no longer put him in danger. Because I cared too much about him to risk his life so much.

"Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about."

"There's nothing wrong with my head." This he was sure of, and I knew I'd have to step it up now.

"What do you want from me, Beau?" I demanded.

"I want to know the truth. I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you _think_ happened?"

"I know that you weren't standing next to me—Taylor didn't see you, either, so it's not concussion damage. That van was going to crush us both—but it didn't. It looked like your hands left dents in the side of it—and your shoulders left a dent in the other car, but you're not hurt at all. The van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up…" Eventually he trailed off, the words gushing out of him at incredible speed, but I'd heard every syllable, and I could only stare. He had seen _everything._

"You think I lifted a van off you?" The words came off as incredulous, questioning his sanity. The shock helped that.

He nodded.

I pulled my lips up into a hard, mocking smirk. "Nobody will believe that, you know."

"I'm not going to tell anybody," he insisted.

This surprised me. He would keep my secret, though he knew the truth? _Why?_ "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me. I don't like to lie—so there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

I added another quality to my list: honest. And on the same token, he was asking me to trust him with my truth, in a roundabout way. But I couldn't do that.

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you," he said immediately, and then he crossed his arms over his chest, staring me down with as much conviction as he could muster. It would have been comical if I hadn't gotten so into my role.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Nope."

"In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment."

I stared at him for a long moment, in awe of his bravery, his selflessness, his keen sense of awareness… I could not stay.

"If you were going to be like this," he finally said, "why did you even bother?"

This took me off guard, and I slipped, once, feeling my villain mask fall. This one time, I told him the truth: "I don't know."

I memorized his face one last time, the bewilderment in the blue of his eyes, the determined set of his jaw, the shape of his lips—it was selfish of me, I knew—and then I turned and walked away from him, forcing myself not to look back.

…

 **A/N:** Poor, poor Edythe. She believes so much she'll be strong enough to leave him… As always, let me know what you thought of this chapter! ;) xo


	4. Visions

**A/N:** Not much to say about this chapter except: Drama goes down at the Cullen house. Purity Ring's "Bodyache" fits this chapter pretty well, I think. Purity Ring anything, in fact, fits with Edythe, IMO. Anyway. Enjoy!

…

I did the only thing I could do—I went back to school.

Most of the other students did as well, aside from Beau, and Taylor.

It shouldn't have been such a feat for me to stay where I was, but I found myself fighting that irresistible magnetic pull that had me wanting to go find Beau, and check up on him. Like some sort of freaky obsessed fan girl.

I compared this day to the first day I'd met Beau Swan. To think I'd thought of that day as so incredibly boring. Today, compared to that, was like being in a vegetable state, coma-like. It was as if the color had drained from the bricks, the trees, the sky, the faces around me...

There was something else I should have been doing, that I wasn't. It was crucial for our kind to keep a low profile, but when, over time, suspicions rose, it was vital that we cover our tracks. I owed it to my family to make excuses for what I'd done—but to me, the morals seemed twisted and skewed. Right for some, wrong for others. I decided I just couldn't shed that sort of light on Beau's reputation.

And so when Mrs. Banner approached me before class began and asked how I was, I told her I hadn't been hurt. When she asked specifically about Beau and Taylor, I told her I hadn't heard anything. I should have given her the same excuse I'd discussed with Carine—that head injuries could misconstrue memory and recall, and that I'd heard Beau's had been particularly severe, even that he'd been incoherent for awhile… But I just couldn't bring myself to say the words.

It felt despicable of me, when Beau had really been nothing but cooperative with the whole thing. So far, he'd seemed to go along with everything I'd said, despite his lack of belief in the account. He hadn't said anything to betray me, despite having good reason to do so. Would I betray him when he had done nothing but keep my secret? No.

When I walked into Spanish, Mr. Goff asked me the same questions, and I gave him the same vague answers.

 _I hope you have a good explanation for what happened today. Roy is_ pissed _._

I ignored Eleanor as I took my seat behind her, but she didn't miss the eye roll as I passed.

In all reality, I had come up with a perfectly explainable justification—one I hadn't really even had to think through. If I _hadn't_ acted so quickly, if I hadn't saved the boy and his blood _had_ been spilled on the icy blacktop… It went without saying I would have exposed us in a much more obvious and horrific way.

It was a perfectly excusable reasoning… But the deep shame associated with it kept me from using it.

 _Look out for Jessamine,_ Eleanor continued as Mr. Goff started class, _She's not as angry… but she's more… Committed._

And then I saw in El's mind what Jessamine was so committed about, and my vision turned red. The room tilted and warbled with the strength of the rage that flooded through me, and I was out of my seat before I could stop myself.

 _SHEESH, EDYTHE! GET A GRIP!_ Eleanor shouted mentally, reaching out into the aisle to grab my arm and pull me back into my seat. She used her full strength now, which was impressive for a vampire. She rarely used her full strength—there was seldom a need, for she was so much stronger than any vampire any of us had ever encountered. She gripped my arm, rather than pushing me down. If she'd been pushing, the chair under me would have collapsed.

"Necesitas disculpas, Edythe?" Mr. Goff inquired.

 _CONTROL YOURSELF!_ Eleanor demanded.

I could only shake my head in the man's direction, staring lasers into the wood top of my desk. I tried to calm myself, but the task proved difficult. The wrath swelled in waves through me, consuming me, drowning me in its insurmountable tides.

 _Jessamine's not going to do anything until we all discuss it. I just thought you should know the direction she's headed._

I took a few deep breaths, and eventually, I felt El's grip on my arm loosen slightly.

 _Chill out, Edythe. I mean it. You're in enough trouble as it is._

I took another breath, and then nodded at her to let her know I was feeling composed enough for her to let go. She released me.

None of the students knew what to make of our brief confrontation, and they simply shrugged it off. The Cullens were freaks—everyone knew that already.

 _Damn, girl, you're a disaster._

"Bite me," I hissed.

The anger simmered just underneath the surface, reigned in, but barely. Eleanor was more forgiving than Jessamine, but her opinion on the subject was clear in her mind, and she wasn't as much on my side as she was on Jess's.

It was true—Eleanor was stronger than I could ever hope to be, but she had yet to beat me in a spar. She was always attributing my victories to the fact that I could read her mind and predict her moves, but that was only a smaller part of the big picture. I was faster and more composed about my fighting strategies than she was, and we would be evenly matched in a fight.

 _A fight?_ I thought to myself, disturbed by the sudden direction my thoughts had taken. Who had said it would come to a fight? And would I really be prepared to defend a human I barely knew against my own family?

I thought about that for a moment, thought about the fragile feel of the boy's frame in my arms in juxtaposition with Jessamine, Royal, and Eleanor—supernaturally strong and fast, built to prey on the simple frailty of humans...

Yes, I would fight for him. Against my family.

I shuddered. I didn't like to think about it, but I knew I would need allies if it came to a showdown. I would not be able to defend the boy alone.

I knew without a doubt that Carine would be on my side, at least from an opinion standpoint. She would be vehement against the stand Jess and El were prepared to make. Her stance against the matter might be all we needed, but I wasn't quite sure…

Earnest? Doubtful. But he would not fight against me, and he would hate to disagree with Carine's perspective. Above all else, he would do whatever it took to keep his family whole, and intact. His first priority would not be decided over what was right or wrong, but through his ever-present filter of love. If Carine was the soul of our family, then Earnest was the heart. She gave us a leader who deserved following; he made that following into an act of love. We all loved each other—even under the fury I felt toward Jessamine and Roy right now, even planning to fight them to save Beau, I knew that I loved them.

As for Archie… I had no idea which side he would take. It would all depend on his vision. I assumed he would side with the victors.

So, I had to assume I would be without allies. In which case, evasive action would need to be taken… How would Beau react to my kidnapping him? I almost smiled at the thought of it… But then, I didn't know how I would manage that… Being in such close quarters with him for any length of time…? Perhaps I would deliver him back to his mother, though even a journey as short as that would be burdened with peril—for the both of us, I realized.

Of course, this risked his life in the most extremist of ways. But I was beginning to understand that if my composure _were_ to lapse, and I… killed him, the pain of that disaster would be very, very intense. Not for Beau—I would not make him suffer—but for me.\\]re9wi0w672995p

…

Eleanor and I walked out to the parking lot together after the final bell.

Royal's thoughts, of course, were an unending stream of profanities and curses, directed solely at me. Eleanor was contemplating what an argument would mean for her, worrying over which side she would need to choose.

Eleanor had been right about Jess. She was absolutely set in her ways.

Archie was distressed, worrying about Jessamine, flipping through images of the future. No matter which direction Jessamine came at Beau, Archie always saw me there, blocking her. Interesting... neither Royal nor Eleanor was with her in these visions. So Jessamine planned to work alone. That would even things up.

Jessamine was the best, and certainly the most experienced, fighter among us. My one advantage lay in that I could hear her moves before she made them.

I had never fought more than playfully with Eleanor or Jessamine—just joking around. I felt sick at the thought of really trying to hurt my sister...

No, not that. Just to block her. That was all.

I concentrated on Archie, memorizing Jessamine's different avenues of attack. As I did that, his visions shifted, moving further and further away from the Swans' house. I was cutting her off earlier...

 _Quit it, Edythe! It can't go down this way. I won't allow it._

I didn't answer him, I just kept watching.

He began searching farther ahead, into the misty, unsure realm of distant possibilities. Everything was shadowy and vague.

When we got to the house, Carine's Mercedes was already there. We were all relieved the discussion would be able to take place right away, then.

She and Earnest were sitting at the dining room table when we came inside. Of course, we never used it for its intended purpose, but we liked to put up the charade, just in case. The long oval table was made of polished mahogany, surrounded by simple, cream-fabric upholstered chairs. The back wall of the dining room looked out over the panama beyond.

Earnest held Carine's hand on top of the table, but his golden gaze was fixed on me.

 _Please don't go._

I wished I could say something to make my father—in all senses of the word—feel better about the conversation that was about to take place. But I had no words of reassurance to offer him now, so I simply took the place to the left of Carine.

Briefly, Earnest lifted his hand off of Carine's and reached across the table to squeeze mine. He didn't know the nature of the discussion that was about to begin; he was only concerned about me. Apparently I looked distraught.

Carine, however, had a better idea of what was to come, and her grave expression caused her to appear much older than she was.

My various siblings took their places around the table, and I noticed, as they took their seats, that the battle lines were already drawn.

Royal sat at the foot of the table, directly across from Carine. He did not look at her, only focused his rage-filled glare on me. Eleanor sat silently beside him.

Jessamine paused when she stepped into the room and paused a moment before turning to go and stand behind Royal's chair, leaning back against the wall. She was decided, regardless of the outcome of this discussion. My fist, on the table underneath Earnest's hand, clenched into a hard ball. She did not meet my gaze.

Archie was the last to come in, and his eyes were focused on something far away— the future, still too indistinct for him to make use of. Without seeming to think about it, he took the seat beside Earnest. He ground the pads of his fingers into his temples as if he had a headache. Jessamine jerked uneasily and considered joining him, but she stayed where she was.

"I want to apologize," I began when everyone was seated, directing my gaze first to Royal's and then to Jess, and then to Eleanor. "I didn't intend to put any of you at risk. It was thoughtless, and I'm sorry, and I take full ownership of my error."

"Full ownership?" Royal repeated icily, "What do you mean by that? Are you going to fix it?"

I worked to keep my voice quiet and even. "Not in the way you mean. I'm willing to leave now, if that helps matters." _If I believe that Beau will be safe, if I believe that none of you will touch him_ , I amended in my head.

Earnest shook his head, anxious eyes on my face. I turned my hand over to wind my fingers around his.

"It would only be for a few years," I assured him, keeping my eyes on my siblings across the room from me.

"You can't go anywhere now," Eleanor said, as if the idea of my leaving was ludicrous. "That would be the _opposite_ of helpful. We have to know what people are thinking now more than ever."

"Archie will catch anything major," I disagreed.

Carine shook her head. "Eleanor has a point, Edythe. The boy is more likely to talk if you leave now. It's all of us leave, or none of us."

"Beau won't say anything," I insisted, a hint of hysteria in my tone. Desperately, I wanted them to believe this. But I at least wanted the fact out there in the open before Royal detonated—which he was building up to now.

"You don't know his thoughts," Carine reminded me gently.

"I _know_ that he won't talk," I insisted, "Archie, tell them."

Archie gazed down at me. His butterscotch eyes were tired. "I can't see what will happen if we just ignore this." He looked at Royal and Jessamine.

I realized that no, he wouldn't be able to see around their stubborn will to act.

Royal's palm smacked down on the table with a loud bang. "We can't allow the human a chance to tell anyone anything. Carine, you _must_ see that. Even if we decided to all disappear, it's not safe to leave suspicious thoughts behind us. We live so differently from the rest of our kind—you know there are those who would love an excuse to point fingers. We have to be more careful than anyone else!"

"We've left rumors behind us before," I reminded him through my teeth.

" _Rumors_ ," he repeated, leering at me, " _Not_ eye-witnesses and evidence!"

"Evidence," I repeated scornfully, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Jessamine's eyes were hard, though, and she was nodding along with him.

"Royal—" Carine started.

"Let me finish, Carine," he contended, holding up his hand, "It doesn't have to be any big production. The boy hit his head today. So maybe that injury turns out to be more serious that it looked." Royal shrugged. "Every mortal goes to sleep with the chance of never waking up. The others would expect us to clean up after ourselves. Technically, that would make it Edythe's job, but this is obviously beyond her." He shot me a scathing look. "You know I'm capable of control. I would leave no evidence behind me."

"Yes, Royal," I hissed, "We all know how capable an assassin you are."

He turned baleful eyes on me, a fierce warning growl issuing from between his teeth.

"Edythe, please," Carine said, holding a hand in my direction, and then she turned to Royal. "Royal, I looked the other way in Rochester because I felt that you were owed your justice. The men who killed you had wronged you monstrously. This is not the same situation. The Swan boy is an innocent."

"It's to protect us all," he ground out through his teeth.

There was a brief moment of quietness while Carine contemplated over her reply. When she nodded, Royal's eyes lit up. He should have known better. Even if I hadn't been able to read her thoughts, I could have anticipated her next words. Carine never compromised.

"I know your intentions are well-placed, Royal, but... I'd like very much for our family to be _worth_ protecting. The occasional...accident or lapse in control is a unfortunate part of who we are." It was very unlike her to include herself in the plural, though she had never had such a lapse herself. "To murder a blameless child in cold blood is another thing entirely. I believe the risk he presents, whether he speaks his suspicions or not, is nothing to the greater risk. If we make exceptions to protect ourselves, we risk something much more important. We risk losing the core of who we are—as Cullens."

I couldn't help it, I lifted my hands, smirking sarcastically at Royal, and applauded slowly.

Another livid snarl burst from his teeth and he was on his feet, leaning toward me.

"Edythe. Royal."

Royal sat and forced his gaze back to Carine. "It's called being responsible, Carine," he implored a moment later, the hardness not quite gone from his voice.

"It's called being callous," she returned firmly, "Every life is precious." These latter words were gentle as she appraised her oldest son's face.

Royal exhaled heavily, folding his thick arms over his chest and slumping back in his chair. He turned his face away from the table.

Eleanor put a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him.

"The question," Carine continued, "is whether it's time to move on?"

"No," Royal griped sullenly, eyes still cast away, "I don't want to start over again, and I like it here. There's so little sun, we almost get to be normal."

"Well, we certainly don't have to decide now," Carine allowed, "We can wait and see if it becomes necessary. Edythe seems certain of the Swan boy's silence."

Royal rolled his eyes.

But I was no longer concerned with Royal's opinions. I could see that he would go along with Carine's decision, no matter how infuriated he was with me. Their conversation had moved on to unimportant details.

Jessamine, however, remained absolute.

I understood why. Before she and Archie had met, she'd lived in a combat zone, a relentless theater of war. She knew the consequences of flouting the rules—she'd seen the grisly aftermath with her own eyes—more than once.

It said much that she had not tried to calm Royal down with her extra faculties, nor did she now try to rile him up. She was holding herself aloof from this discussion— above it.

"Jessamine."

Her eyes, just a little more wild than the rest of ours, flitted to my face.

"This is _my_ mistake, an error _I_ made. I will not allow him to pay the price for that."

Jessamine shook her head minutely. "Then he benefits from it? He should have lost his life today, Edythe. I would only be setting things right."

"No." The word issued through my clenched teeth in a fierce hiss. "I won't _allow_ it."

This surprised her. She hadn't expected that I would act against her to defend the boy.

"You haven't lived through what I've lived through, Edythe," she argued, "You don't understand, even if you've lived those experiences second-hand through my memories. I will not allow any of my family, _especially_ Archie, to live in danger—no matter how insignificant the risk."

I shook my head at her. "I'm not disputing that, Jess. But I will not let you hurt Beau Swan. I can't."

Jessamine stared at me, and I stared back. She was assessing the atmosphere around her, gauging the strength of my fortitude.

"Jess."

Jessamine did not look away from me as she answered Archie. "Don't tell me you can look out for yourself, Archie; I already know that. I've still got to—"

"That's not what I was gonna say, babe," he said with a chuckle, "I was going to ask you for a favor."

I saw what was on his mind, and my mouth fell open with an audible gasp. I stared at him, shocked, only vaguely aware that everyone besides Archie and Jessamine was now eyeing me warily.

"I know you love me n' all. Appreciate that. But I would _also_ really appreciate it if you didn't try to kill Beau. Firstly, because Edythe's totally serious, and I don't want either of you getting hurt. Second of all," And his tone brightened marginally, "Beau's my good buddy. At least, he _will_ be."

The image broadcasted with perfectly clarity in his head: Archie, laughing, slapping Beau softly on the shoulder, in one of those one-armed bro-hug things. And Beau was smiling too, returning the gesture, his eyes focused on something over Archie's shoulder.

"We're gonna pretty much be best bros one day, Jess. I won't be very happy with you if you don't leave him alone."

I didn't look away from Archie's face to see what Jessamine's expression looked like. I saw the future flicker as Jessamine's resolve floundered in the face of his unexpected request.

"Ha," Archie chuckled happily—Jess's indecision had cleared a new future, and I could see the tension in his shoulders relax. "Beau's not gonna say anything to anybody. Nothing at all to be worried about. It'll all work out."

The way he said Beau's name… As if they were already friends…

"Archie… I… I don't understand… What… does this…?"

"I told you, Edy, there was a change coming. I don't know." But he locked his jaw, and I could see that there was more. He was trying not to think about it; he was focusing very hard on Jessamine suddenly, though she was too stunned to have progressed much in her decision-making.

He did this sometimes when he was trying to keep something from me. "What, Archie?" I demanded lowly, "What are you keeping from me?"

He jerked his head once, doing his best to keep me out.

"Is it about the boy?" I prodded, "Is it about Beau?"

The sound of his name caused him to slip. Archie's guard only fell for a sixteenth of a second, but that was long enough to see what he'd been hiding.

" _No_!" I cried out, on my feet, the chair clattering to the floor behind me.

"Edythe?" Carine was on her feet, too, and distantly I felt her hand on my arm.

"It's getting firmer," Archie murmured, "Every minute, you're more sure. There's really only two options left. It's one or the other for him, Edy."

I could see what he was seeing, but I could not digest it. I could not allow it in, could not come to terms with it.

"No," I moaned, suddenly feeling very hollow and weak. I sunk down to sit on the floor, curling my legs up to my chest.

"Will somebody _please_ let us in on the mystery? We're not all mind-readers, you know!" Eleanor griped.

"I have to leave." My voice was hollow, and I couldn't tear my gaze from the floor in front of me. I almost wanted to rock myself, if it would make me feel any better.

"I don't see you going anywhere, Edy," Archie said, crouching down in front of me. He reached out to touch my knee. "I don't know if you even possess the _ability_ to leave anymore." _Think about it,_ he urged silently, _Think about leaving him._

It dawned on me, again, the realization of how much it would pain me to leave Beau. But I couldn't stay. I could not stick around to watch whatever future I'd sanctioned him to play out.

 _I don't know about Jess. If you leave and she thinks he's a danger… Maybe not right away, but somewhere down the road… Would you leave him undefended?_

I groaned, burying my face in my knees. "Don't _do this_ to me!"

I was not Beau's protector. I could not be that. Wasn't Archie's divided future enough proof of that?

 _I love him, too, Edy. Not in the same way, of course, and I would never tell him that out loud. It would break all kinds of man codes, but still. Yeah. The feeling's there._

"Love him, _too_?" My voice was raw.

He sighed, resting an elbow on his bent knee. _You are_ so _blind, Edythe. Can't you see where you're headed? Can't you see where you already are? It's gonna happen, without a doubt. See what I see..._

I shook my head mechanically. "No. No, no, no…" I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that would be enough to block out the visions he was trying to show me. "I don't have to follow that course. I _will_ be strong enough to leave. I _will_."

"Wait…" Eleanor said. She was the last to catch on, though the first to speak. "Edythe? Falling for a _human_?" She laughed, sounding shocked. "What?!"

A strange choking sound exited my throat, but it was lost in the sudden maniacal laughter booming from Eleanor. She was shocked, absolutely stunned, and her laughter was in part due to that. It was how she dealt with things—finding the humor in them.

"What do you see, Archie? Precisely?" Jessamine asked, at Archie's side now, battle lines forgotten.

"It depends on whether she's strong enough," Archie explained, "Either—" He paused to glare warnings at me, "She'll kill him herself—which wouldn't be good for _any_ of the parties involved—or he'll become one of us one day."

"Neither of those things is going to happen!" I howled.

Archie didn't seem to hear me. "It all depends," he repeated. "She may be just strong enough not to kill him—but it will be close. It will take an amazing amount of control," he mused. "More even than Carine has. She may be _just_ strong enough... The only thing she's not strong enough to do is stay away from him. That's a lost cause."

No one spoke. The room was pregnant with silence, and I could only stare wide-eyed at Archie. I could see my distraught expression from five different perspectives, and again, I ducked my face into my knees.

"Well, this… complicates things," I heard Carine murmur thoughtfully.

"I'll say," Eleanor agreed. Her voice was still close to laughter. Trust Eleanor to find the joke in the destruction of my life.

"I suppose," Carine carried on, "The plan remains intact. We'll stay, and watch… And no one will hurt the boy."

Jessamine shook her head slightly, and a growl ripped through me at her thoughts, my face whipping up to glare at her. "No," she said, ignoring my fury, "I can't agree to that… If Archie only sees two inevitabilities, then…"

"No!" My voice was a howl of outrage mixed with despair. "No!"

I had to leave, to be away from the noise of their thoughts—Royal's self- righteous disgust, Eleanor's humor, Carine's never ending patience...

Worse: Archie's confidence. Jessamine's confidence in that confidence.

Worst of all: Earnest's... _joy_.

I strode from the room and was running before I was even out of the house. I flew down the sloping lawn toward the cover of trees, streaking soundlessly through their foliage, trying very hard not to think.

I leaped the width of the river effortlessly, and then kept running—due east.

The rain had returned, and I liked the downpour, which soaked me through almost immediately. It created a thick wall around me, made me feel safe from outside influence for the time being.

I kept running until I could see the lights of Seattle, and I stopped before touching the edge of human civilization.

And then I found a seat on a large boulder, and I forced myself to think about the conversation that had just taken place with my family, and what it meant to me. The way I had twisted and fractured and mutilated the future was inexcusable, shameful, but I forced myself to look at it just the same.

The first thing, Archie's vision of himself with Beau. Beau had been totally at ease, had not shied away from the coolness of Archie's skin, but his eyes were what had struck me. Impossibly, they'd changed so completely. Where before they'd swam with doubt, indecision and confusion, now they were firmer with resolve, and confidence. I wondered what had changed that, and how many secrets he held behind that ocean-blue gaze.

What did it mean? What did he know? And in that still-life moment from the future, what did he think of _me_?

Then the subsequent image—just the same, except that now there was no difference in their skin, and Beau's eyes… The shocking bright red of a newborn vampire. I couldn't explain why this image caused me pain, but it was an acute and focused pain, in the pit of my stomach.

I could not suppress the reverberating questions: What did it mean? How had these visions come to fruition? What did he think of me?

I could answer the last one, at least, and I thought this was where that acute pain reverberated from: If I were to force this damned, half-life on him, a product of my own weakness and selfishness, surely he would hate me for all of eternity.

But there was one more image—one more horrifying than all the rest—and I forced it to recall now. My own eyes, vengeful crimson with human blood, _Beau's_ blood. Myself, crouched over Beau's broken, ashy pale body, completely lifeless. This image, above all, had been so concrete, so clear. There was no questioning what would happen if I were to lose even a modicum of self-control around Beau.

And yet… I groaned with frustration. Archie had been right. I didn't think I could leave anymore. I could see what he'd been saying—the notion of it caused me great, multi-faceted pain.

So I focused on what I knew would comfort me—the image of Beau's face, the clear, delicate membrane of his skin, blood pulsing beneath the surface, the wide ocean of his clear blue eyes… But it would not come to mind. I simply could not see past Archie's images of the future.

I curled in on myself, sinking into the dungeon of the two possibilities Archie had seen, writhing in the chains they manacled around my limbs. There _had_ to be a way to circumvent the future. There had to be a way to change what he had seen. I would not let Archie's foreseen pathways direct my own. There had to be some way, some unforeseen third option… There had to be.

…

 **A/N:** As always, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter! I'll see you again soon!


	5. Fair Warning

**A/N:** Hi, all. This one's a bit of a longer one. This was always one of my favorites from the original, and so it was fun to write. Song inspiration of the week: "Demons (feat. Jennel Garcia)" Boyce Avenue. Enjoy!

…

I returned to normal as best as I could.

I stayed in Forks to appease my family. I was focused on doing everything correctly now, dotting every "I" and crossing every "T". I hunted no more than the rest of them, I attended school and played the quiet junior girl every day. Everyday I listened with extra attention to the thoughts around me, keeping an ear out for any signs of suspicion. But there were none. Not from the teachers, not from the students. Beau had not spoken a word of it to anyone—much to my knowledge, he was still going along with the story I'd fabricated, and no one had questioned him. The lie was very obvious to me, and at first I thought it was because Beau seemed to be a horrible liar, but then maybe I suspected it was because I _knew_ it was a lie, and I was overthinking it. At any rate, his peers soon grew bored of his unchanging story, gleaning no more details, and they eventually backed off.

So my very absurdly stupid action had harmed no one—except for myself. Every day was torture—hell, and fire; the both of them. It was torture to be here in the same place as Beau, to have to sit beside him every day in fifth period biology and endure the scorching burn in my throat. But more-so, to have to sit and bear that strange magnetic pull, to resist its strength.

Every time it got difficult to defy, I called to mind Archie's visions—the two fates he'd given Beau: Death, or eternal damnation. It eased the urge to sooth the rejection I'd given him. I pacified myself with the knowledge that his malleable human mind would process this, in the long run, as a mere pin-prick of rejection.

I was determined to refuse Archie's foreseen future for the boy. I _would_ create a new path for him. But then, this was easier said than done.

I had assumed the first day would be the hardest, but every day after became more and more difficult, a growing unease, acute to the point of pain. But I was determined to grit my teeth and bear it, for the sake of the boy. His world and mine were spheres that did not touch. It was for his own safety that he remained in the realm of his own universe, with his friends and his father and mother, and all the potential the mortal world held for him.

Beau was human, and in being human, he possessed instincts that were sure to warn him of my difference, that I was something to be frightened of. He would probably be more relieved than wounded when I turned my face away from him and pretended that he didn't exist.

Except that the first day after the accident, he tried to talk to me. The day would have been hard enough without the confusion his greeting stirred up in me.

"Hey, Edythe," he'd said upon his arrival to our one shared class. His tone was friendly, open, and it perplexed me. I had been as intimidating yesterday as I knew how. Hadn't my obvious unfriendliness threatened him at all? He had seemed so… dissatisfied the day before. So many of his questions had been unanswered, but his tone here, now, gave the illusion that he would be perfectly willing to let it all go.

I wanted to look into his face, just once, to try and make sense of the puzzle, and I began to turn my head, but quickly drew myself up short. No. I could not allow that. Not if I wanted to change things for him.

I nodded at him once, and then turned my eyes to the front of the room again.

He didn't speak to me again after that.

Running became my new after-school activity of preference. It was very easy to run all-out, until everything around me was a gray and green streaked blur, not to have to focus on the torment in my head, only on the environment around me, the passage of my feet along the forest ground…

But still, the musings always found a way in…

Did I love him? No. I didn't think so—not yet, at least. But Archie's premonitions had stayed with me, haunting me like nightmares—except that I couldn't sleep, so instead, they haunted me day in and day out. I could see, objectively, just how simple it would be to fall for Beau Swan. Absolutely effortless, like breathing, or falling. All of the things that made Beau human were what I desired, and the agony of it was inescapable. Impossible. But keeping myself from him was impossible—like dragging myself up a sheer cliff-face, day after day—minute by minute during fifth period biology—as if I had nothing more than mere mortal strength.

But if I _was_ destined to love Beau, then wouldn't that mean I should keep him safe as humanly—and inhumanly, as it just so happened—possible? If I wanted what was best for him, I had to stay away.

The six weeks that passed didn't get any easier, and I went round and round in my head, trying to see a way around the two possible futures Archie had seen, to no avail. I was not strong enough to be near him and keep him safe. I did not feel I was strong enough to stay away from him, either, but I had so far. Avoiding him was the best foreseen solution to keeping Beau alive and mortal.

Avoiding him was about the limit of what I could bear, though. I could pretend to ignore him, and never look his way. I could pretend that he was of no interest to me. But that was the extent, just pretense and not reality.

In reality, every bit of it was torture.

The thirst was torture, the constant burning of my throat was the most focused of pains. The silence in his mind was torture; to not be able to know what he was thinking, to know why he did the things he did. To not know why, on any given day, he would rush in late, face flushed, or why he would drop his bag on the floor by his seat with just a little more vigor than usual, or why he would bounce his knee spastically. Each movement in the periphery of my vision was a maddening mystery. When he talked to his peers, was he saying what he was really thinking, or was he just saying what he thought they wanted to hear? More often than not, it sounded like the latter to me, and strangely, it reminded me of myself and my family—the façade we constantly had to uphold… But then, maybe I was just imagining things again. Why would Beau, of all people, need to hold up a mask? He was one of them.

Surprisingly, the worst of my torments was the one I least expected: McKayla Newton. I could not fathom how it was possible for a skinny little blonde to be so totally vexatious. The girl knew nothing about the boy, though she was the one who kept him talking, and as a result, had me continuing to add to my list of the qualities I admired in Beau. She had constructed a Beau in her mind that just did not exist, and it did not do him justice whatsoever. The Beau in McKayla's head was just as frivolous and shallow and flat as she was, and frankly, it offended me. It gave no credit to the multi-faceted character Beau actually was. She didn't seem to notice the selflessness and gallantry that set him apart from other humans, she didn't hear the abnormal maturity of his spoken thoughts. She didn't perceive that when he spoke of his mother, he sounded like a parent speaking of a child rather than the other way around—loving, indulgent, slightly amused, and fiercely protective. She didn't hear the patience in his voice when he feigned interest in her rambling stories, and didn't guess at the kindness behind that patience.

Through her conversations with him, she had unintentionally unearthed the most revealing of all his qualities, as simple as it was rare: Beau was _good_. All the other things added up to that whole—kind and self-effacing and unselfish and loving and brave—he was good through and through.

Still, the helpfulness of her discoveries did not put the girl in any kind of new light for me. The strength of her possessiveness over him drove me nearly insane with provocation. And it wasn't only her inappropriate fantasies about the boy. For an entirely perplexing reason, she saw their relationship as something more than it was. Beau's polite smiles and respectful attentiveness came off as something completely misperceived for her. It didn't help that he seemed to prefer her over the rest of his admirers. And what drove me even more mad, was that I had no idea _why_.

Every day she would perch on the end of our table and twitter away to him, flashing him coy smiles and flipping her hair over her shoulder, encouraged all the more by his, _I was sure_ , purely polite smiles.

But today, she was feeling more let-down than usual, and I had to fight very hard to keep the grin of pleasure off my face.

McKayla had talked to Jeremy this morning, trying to fish out information on where Beau stood via the upcoming Sadie Hawkins dance. Oblivious to the Stanley boy's infatuation with her, she'd figured him to be an easy in to Beau's motives, as he was the friend Beau seemed closest to. But she'd been let down when Jeremy had told her that Beau wasn't planning on attending the dance. She'd been building herself up for weeks, attempting to garner the bravery to ask him.

Prissy little coward…

"So," she said now, too chicken to look him in the eye. Instead, she directed her gaze at the floor. "Jeremy said that you don't do dances."

"Yeah, that's true."

I had to swallow my snicker at McKayla's apparent offense. She'd been under the impression Beau had been lying to Jeremy, for whatever reason.

"Oh," she said, her tone a little affronted, "I thought maybe he was making it up."

"Uh, sorry, no." Beau scratched the back of his neck, confused. "Why would he make up a story like that?"

The corners of McKayla's lips turned down into a frown, discouragement sinking in. "I think he wants me to ask him."

"You should. Jeremy's great." Beau's tone was suddenly enthusiastic, and curiosity shook me so suddenly, my shoulders began to turn toward them. I caught myself almost immediately, and clenched my hands into one knot on my lap, forcing composure. I stared so hard at the blackboard at the front of the room, I could make out the faded outlines from the entire last month's notes.

McKayla shrugged her shoulders, non-committal. "I guess." She hesitated for a moment, and then braced herself for impact. She drew in a deep breath and lifted her eyes to his face. I watched Beau through her eyes. He didn't suspect a thing. "Would this 'I don't dance' thing change if I was the one asking you to go?"

In that moment of hesitation, I suddenly saw it. Maybe Beau would end up accompanying the girl to the dance, maybe he wouldn't. Either way, someday, Beau would choose someone, whether it be McKayla, Taylor, or someone else.

I saw it again—the potential of his life, college, marriage, kids… Children with beautiful blue eyes…

The pain was more than anything I'd felt before. A human would have to be on the point of death to feel this pain—a human would not live through it.

And not just pain, but outright _rage_.

I was completely taken aback by the sudden rage I felt toward this insignificant human girl. Rage so acute I had to fight the urge to channel it into some physical outlet. I entertained fantasies of ripping handfuls of hair out of her pretty blonde head.

I didn't understand this emotion—it was such a tangle of pain and rage and desire and despair. I had never felt it before; I couldn't put a name to it.

"Um, sorry, again." Beau's tone was genuinely apologetic.

McKayla's hopes plummeted, and I saw the stab of disappointment in her thoughts. I would have thoroughly enjoyed myself under any circumstance, but right now, I was drowning in a sea of emotion I didn't know how to process.

One thing I did know, however: Archie had been right. I _wasn't_ strong enough.

"Would it change if someone else asked you?" For the first time in a month and a half, McKayla's thoughts turned suspicious as she snuck a glance at me. Through her eyes, I realized I'd betrayed my interest; my head was slightly inclined in Beau's direction.

And there was something else in her thoughts—petulant envy for the girl she suspected Beau preferred over her. It named my foreign emotion, for she was feeling the same thing—I was envious.

"No," Beau said, "It's a moot point anyway. I'm going to be in Seattle that day."

Suddenly, I was considering my stance in the matter, and who my contenders might be. The curiosity about his where's and why's was dulled by the comfort in knowing I would find the answers to my questions, somehow.

"Does it have to be _that_ weekend?" I didn't like the way she sounded, offended and rude, as if she disapproved of his possible prior engagements—though I had a feeling, he was just saying that to get out of going to the dance.

"Yeah," Beau returned brightly, unaffected by her offensive tone, "But don't worry about me. You should take Jeremy. He's much more fun than I am."

I doubted that.

"Yeah, I guess." McKayla made no effort to hide her dejection. I found great humor in the disappointed way her shoulders slumped as she went to take her seat, and then abrupt disappointment when her eyes left Beau's face.

I wasn't going to stand for that. I turned my face toward where Beau sat for the first time in many weeks, and I was surprised at the relief I felt in doing so—like a deep gasp of air to long-submerged human lungs.

He was taller than I remembered, but he sat slightly slumped forward now, eyes shut, fingers pushed into his temples. What was he _thinking?_

I stared, for one brief moment, wondering if he was regretting his choice in telling the girl no.

Exasperating, and yet, so entirely beguiling.

After a long moment, he sighed and opened his eyes. Their blue depths latched to mine immediately, perhaps sensing my gaze on him, and I was even more-so surprised at the relief this provided, more than the gasp of air to long-submerged lungs, this was drags and drags of air, the ability to suck them in in copious amounts, without refrain—and something else along with it, that strange sensation of weakness and strength in the same, strange coexistence.

Beau did not look away, his gaze fixed on mine, and I stared with continued inappropriate intensity, trying to read the answers in his eyes, though all I could decipher were more questions.

I could see the reflection of my own eyes in his gaze—obsidian with thirst. This was not the safest day for my long-standing will to crumble, but the darkness didn't seem to intimidate him. He continued to stare down at me, heat rising behind his skin.

What was he _thinking_? I so desperately wanted to know, and I was just about to ask, when Mrs. Banner clued in on our inattention.

"Miss. Cullen?" she called, pleased to have caught me off-guard—or so she thought.

I tore my gaze unwillingly from Beau's, easily picking the correct answer out of her head. "The Krebs Cycle." In order to answer the teacher's question, I had had to draw a breath, and flames scorched down my throat now, triggering all the usual instincts: venom flooded my mouth, my muscles coiled to spring, my stomach panged emptily.

I let my eyes fall shut, attempting to focus through the whirl of bloodlust swirling inside me.

The snarling, savage, animal part of me was rejoicing. Its odds had increased, growing from a mere 33.33333 percent, to an even fifty-fifty chance at winning the battle—at possessing the reward she so craved.

The remorse and the guilt filled up the empty caverns of my insides, aching acutely. If I had the ability to produce tears, I would have shed them, now.

In this moment, I had lost the battle, I had proved Archie's predictions all along—I was not strong enough to stay away from Beau. I suspected I might never be…

Giving in to it all now, I turned to stare at him. He had his head ducked, one elbow propped on the table, hand on his neck. His skin was rosy with color, eyes glued to the notebook in front of him, though his pencil lay abandoned on the table.

I wavered, considering the fragility of his nature. I couldn't do this. He was too good, too precious, too delicate. He did not deserve the dark stain of my presence. I could not eclipse this bright, warm sun with my cold, heedless shadow.

And yet… I knew there was no way I could keep myself from him, not now that the third option had dissipated.

There was a raucous collision inside me, hissing frustration and anguished groaning, as I first wavered one way, and then the other.

Despite my inward mêlée, the hour with Beau passed much too quickly. I was almost surprised when the bell rang, sooner than I had thought it would.

When Mrs. Banner excused the class, I was surprised at the stab of pain I felt when Beau turned his shoulders away from me to stack his books. I supposed I deserved the rejection. I had not treated him very kindly in this past month and a half…

My willpower lying in shreds already, I spoke before I could stop myself, aching for those eyes on me again. "Beau?"

He stiffened, his shoulders lifting just slightly toward his ears, which were suddenly red. Slowly, he turned toward me, and I braced myself for the assault of his gaze.

His expression was wary, guarded, but the flood of emotions washed through me all the same. Like the long drags of air, the relief, the pain, the euphoria, the weakness.

I pulled in shallow gasps of air, trying to ignore the fire in my throat. I waited. I had no right to his trust. He _should_ distrust me, in fact. I had done nothing to garner it. Why had I said anything? How was this going to work? Where would this go?

"Yes?"

I just looked at him.

Confusion etched his eyes. "So… um, are you… or are you not talking to me again?"

His confusion, the lost look in his eyes, as always, entertained me, though I didn't know why. I fought the grin that wanted to find itself on my face as I replied: "Not." The smile carved its way into my face anyway.

"Okay…" His eyes dropped to his hands, and then across the room to the chalkboard.

I felt the need to explain myself, and the dilemma it presented sobered me.

"I'm sorry," I told him, "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really." I spoke the words with vehemence, trying to make him understand. Grappling for some way out of this strange unforeseen option, coming to fruition now. Impossible as it was, I wanted to deserve his trust. But at the same time, I passionately wished he would clue in to just how dangerous I was, and how important it was he stayed away from me… He was an intelligent boy. Surely, he could see that it would be better this way… Though everything inside me screamed in resistance.

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's better if we're not friends," I went on, "Trust me."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, almost in anger, and it filled me with surprise, and desperation.

"What are you thinking?" I wanted to know.

"I guess…" He began, swallowing, "that it's too bad you didn't figure this out earlier, saved yourself the regret."

Again. Completely caught off guard. What was going through this boy's mind? "Regret? Regret for what?"

"For not letting Taylor's van crush me when it had the chance." He said the words so casually, with such blasé off-handedness, it floored me.

How could he possibly think that? Saving his life had been the _one_ acceptable thing I had done since we had met. The one and only thing that had ever made me glad for my existence. To think he thought… When I had been fighting with every fiber of my being to keep him alive since I had first caught his scent… The absurdity of it all froze me to the spot.

"You think I regret saving your life?"

He looked away again momentarily, and then unexpectedly leaned closer, his fragrance rampaging down my airways, flooding me with burning heat.

"Yeah," he murmured, "I mean, what else? Seems kind of obvious."

I couldn't help it—I was so full of rage—as an uncontrolled hiss escaped through my teeth. This was inexcusably absurd! His estimations of my intensions had me seething with rage. To assume I thought so little of him as to wish him dead…!

"You're an _idiot._ "

Something in his eyes locked up, and despite my anger, the emotions I saw there in the split second before he turned away had me curious. Resolve, frustration, a flash of embarrassment… But mostly that lost puppy-dog look, which would have entertained me if I hadn't been in such a suddenly bad mood.

He gathered his books and rose, striding toward the door. He moved stiffly, not paying attention to where he was going, and his boot caught on the doorjamb. He stumbled, his books spilling out onto the sidewalk. He stood very still for a moment, as if considering whether or not to pick the books up. Then he sighed.

It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, considering the magnitude of the past two months' events, but no one was watching me anyway, so I grabbed my bag and flitted to his side in an instant.

I stacked his books neatly before he even knew I was there. He bent halfway toward the ground, and then jerked into stillness when he saw me. I passed the books back to him, making sure my skin did not come into contact with his. He took them with his eyes averted.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," I returned icily.

He straightened, turned his back on me, and headed off toward the Gym building. I watched his receding back until he was lost in the crowd of roaming students, and then I wrenched myself the other way and headed for Spanish.

Mr. Goff didn't pay my inattention any mind—he knew my comprehension of the Spanish language was superior to his, and so he tended to give me great leniency.

I found myself thinking again, of that fourth, unforeseen option. It was clear I could no longer ignore Beau—no matter how much I had tried to in the past six weeks, it was clear I was unable to do _that_. But did it mean I had no other choice but to destroy him? Via death or eternal damnation, it didn't make a difference—I would still be viciously obliterating his soul. There had to be another way, some sort of moderate balance… I struggled toward an absolution.

…

On our way to the car, Eleanor finally pegged my mood. She wasn't usually very attentive to the changing emotions of those around her, but she wasn't able to ignore my obvious change today.

Hopeful. She decided I looked hopeful, and her thoughts surprised me.

Hopeful? Was that what it appeared to be from an outside perspective? I wondered what that _meant_ , and what on earth I should be hoping _for?_

But I didn't have long to ponder over the prospects, for the minds of some of Beau's admirers—did I consider myself a part of that group, now? I supposed I did, but not in the way many would assume—had caught my attention. Both Erica and Taylor had caught wind of McKayla's rejection, and they were preparing to try their own luck.

Erica was already waiting by Beau's truck, her mind a racing rampage of nervous reflection. Taylor's class was being held late to receive an assignment, and she was in a rush to get out to the parking lot, glancing between the clock and the door again, and again. She wanted to get to him before he escaped.

Now, this I had to see.

I stopped walking, and El continued a couple of paces before pausing and glancing back at me, confused.

"Wait for the others here, okay?" I told her, hiking the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder and then turning away before she could really answer.

 _Poor girl_ , she thought as she watched me go, _She's damn near lost her mind._

I saw Beau on his way out of the gym, and I waited where he would not see, watching as he passed. As he got closer to Erica's ambush, I strode forward, setting my pace so that I would walk by at the right moment.

He caught sight of the small, slim figure leaning against the door of his truck, and he skidded to a stop. I heard his heart skip a beat, and then he drew a breath, and his heart rate calmed down. He walked forward, and I found myself wondering what his reaction had been all about? As if he'd been expecting… Someone else?

"Hey, Erica," he called out as he approached.

"Hi, Beau." She stammered a bit over the words, smoothing a hand over her ponytail. Her face was bright red under the constellation of acne on her face, and I was surprised when I was suddenly filled with anxiety. What if this kind of girl was more his type—quiet, bookish, slightly awkward like himself?

"What's up?" he inquired now, sliding his key into the door. And then he turned his gaze on her, his long fingers fumbling the key. It seemed he had caught on to her nervousness.

She didn't meet his gaze as she said her next words, staring instead at her Converse against the slick asphalt. "Um, I was wondering if you would go to the spring dance with me?"

Erica was still looking at the ground, and so I couldn't see Beau's reaction in her mind. Was he pleased? Taken aback?

"Sorry, Erica, I'm not going to the dance." His words were gentle, and due to the fact that Erica Yorkie didn't annoy me nearly as much as McKayla Newton did, I felt a sudden hint of pity for the girl.

"Oh, okay." She lifted her gaze just enough so that I could see the edge of his jaw, the shape of his lips.

"Because I'm going to be in Seattle," he continued on rapidly, as if trying to reassure her, "It's the only day I can go. So, you know, oh well. I hope it's fun and all."

She met his gaze then, and I was struck by the compassion in Beau's eyes. He really did look commiserated. "Okay. Maybe next time." She forced her tone to sound a bit more upbeat. She had already heard the excuse from McKayla, but she was disappointed all the same.

"Sure." And then he made a face, as if he regretted giving the girl a loophole. I was pleased about that.

"See ya," she called over her shoulder as she headed toward her car.

His face still looked pinched as I passed, as if all this attention from his not-so-secret-anymore admirers was painful, and I giggled quietly.

He whirled to face me, his bag striking the side of his truck as he turned, and I forced my gaze straight ahead, holding my mouth in a straight line, as not to betray my humor, though I suspected I already had.

Taylor was behind me, almost running in her hurry to catch him before he could get into his truck and drive away. She was bolder and more confident than the other two; she'd only waited to approach Beau this long because she'd respected McKayla's prior 'claim'.

Though her audacity agitated me, I wanted her to achieve her quest for two reasons—one, if Beau was as uncomfortable with all this attention as it seemed he was, I wanted to see his reaction. It was funny. And two, if Taylor's had been the invitation he'd been waiting for… Well, I wanted to be aware of that, as well.

I hardly deserved the title, but I supposed I saw myself as a competitor to the other girls, as well. Though, as I compared myself, I realized I could never compare to the normal, trivial, human girls. I could never be a typical human girl, and I flinched at the realization. It was foolish to see myself having any sort of chance among the other girls. How could he care for someone who was, by every sense of the definition, a monster?

He deserved much better than a monster.

But still, the curiosity plagued me, and I had to have my answers.

I picked up my pace, sliding into the driver's seat of the Volvo and pulling out into the narrow aisle just in time to hinder Beau's progress. I didn't want to give Taylor the opportunity to invite Beau to the chance somewhere private, where I wouldn't know the outcome.

Eleanor and the others were on their way, but still walking slowly, watching me, curious about my odd behavior. Eleanor had explained to them, and they were confused.

I kept my eyes on Beau in the rearview. He seemed to be trying very hard not to look at me. His eyes flitted from his dash to his own rearview, to his hands on the steering wheel.

Taylor, thankful for my intervention—though oblivious to the fact that it was all for her—hopped into her newly acquired Sentra and got into line behind him. She waved, and I laughed when Beau ducked his head, pretending not to have seen her. She was not deterred. She waited another minute, and then got out of the car, leaving the ignition running, and headed over to his passenger side window.

She gave it a rap, and Beau glanced over at her. When he saw it was Taylor, he gave a muddled look in the rearview at her abandoned car, and then a double take back to the girl standing outside his truck.

I laughed again. His bewilderment really was adorable.

He leaned across the bench seat and rolled the window down manually, about halfway. Then he seemed to give up, straightening up once more.

"Sorry, Taylor," he apologized, "I can't move. I'm pinned in." He waved his hand toward the back of my car, and I ducked my head, pressing my lips together, unable to get rid of the smile totally, in case he saw me watching.

"Oh, I know," she said, not bothered in the slightest, "I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." Her grin was undeniably confident. Her thoughts were filled with self-confidence.

I was rewarded with the look of astonishment on Beau's face.

"Will you go to the spring dance with me?" she continued.

"I'm not going to be in town, Taylor." He sounded a little sharp, a little exacerbated, and this made me laugh again. The complete unthreatening tenor of his frustration was almost as hilarious as his puppy-dog-esque disorientation.

"Yeah, McKayla told me that."

"Then why—?"

She shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy."

"Sorry, Taylor," he said, not really sounding very sorry at all, which pleased me, "I'm not going to the dance."

"That's cool, we still have prom." She accepted the excuse, her self-confidence still totally intact, and then headed back to her car.

 _I guess that secondhand gown will come in handy after all,_ she thought with glee. She was already picturing Beau in color-coordinated garb.

I did not deny waiting for this in the least.

The perplexed astonishment on his face was apparent, and also, the funniest thing I had ever seen. The humor was made all the more potent by the fact that his expression had given me the answer I had been so desperate to know—though completely undeserving of: He had no feelings for any of these girls whatsoever.

And so, I was essentially rocking with laughter when my siblings reached me, sliding into their seats. They all stared at me, baffled. They weren't used to seeing me in such high spirits. They had long ago adjusted to their bitter, melancholy sister.

 _What are you laughing at?_ Eleanor wanted to know.

Beau revved his engine impatiently now, and it looked like he was considering his old, decrepit truck a tank engine, possibly. His impatience only made me laugh harder.

"Let's go," Royal groaned, fed up with my odd behavior, "Quit acting like such a _child_. If that's even possible…"

His jab didn't offend me—I was still too entertained by Beau—but I did as he requested, and put the Volvo in drive.

No one spoke on the way home, and every now and then, Beau's expression would come to mind, bringing with it fresh waves of amusement.

…

It was past midnight when I arrived at the Swan residence. The entire street was unconscious, not an aware meditation in hearing distance. And, of course, nothing from Beau.

I hesitated at the fringe of the trees bordering the east side of Charlie Swan's property, settling a palm against the bark of the tree closest to me. This was wrong. I shouldn't be here. I had known it when I'd set out for my hunting trip—where I'd absolutely gorged myself on a small herd of elk doe and a black bear I'd been lucky enough to find at this time of year. Eleanor would be jealous.

My insides sloshed with the animals' essence, and I was full—uncomfortably full. And yet, the temptation for the boy was as resilient as ever. The magnetic force, the one that didn't desire his blood, but _him_ himself, pulled me, with ever-growing strength, toward the male human.

I flitted across the wide lawn and paused beneath the second story, west-facing window. His scent was strongest here, and in the room above me, I could hear his steady heartbeat. I took a moment to close my eyes and study that mellow thump, though it had been center stage in my mind for the past six weeks anyway.

I had already surmised that the front door would be locked. That was no problem in my case, except for the fact that I didn't think Chief Swan would appreciate a break and enter.

Resting all of my weight into the back heel of my boot, I pushed off the grass and launched myself up the side of the dully white, faded house. Easily, I caught the eave of the window frame and peered through the glass.

Immediately, I discovered his long shape, draped over the small bed at the other end of the room.

The small space was surprisingly organized. Books stacked neatly on the desk, only a gray hooded sweatshirt hanging over the back of the computer chair—the same sweatshirt he'd worn today.

There were no other clothes, not on the floor, no shoes strewn about… Nothing cluttering the weathered oak chest of drawers. Everything was perfectly neat and organized… Except for…

My gaze shifted back to the boy in the bed.

The teal-colored duvet had been thrown to the floor, the sheets were tangled around his knees. He wore a pair of basketball shorts, and his chest was bare. The slightest sheen of perspiration glistened at his temples. He was too warm.

As I watched, he tossed restlessly in his sleep, throwing an arm across his face. So he wasn't a restful sleeper, that much was clear…

Or was it that he could sense I was near—his subconscious cluing him in of the peril that was in too near proximity?

The familiar roiling sensation of self-loathing filled my hollow insides, and abruptly I was appalled with myself. This was a disgusting breech of privacy, and abhorrently inappropriate. Not to mention insanely dangerous.

I dropped one hand from the eave, prepared to fall back to the ground.

But then—he spoke. And when I turned my gaze back on him, his expression was… unhappy.

"S'okay, Mom," he muttered, "Don'… worry 'bout me…"

Well, this was certainly intriguing. Beau Swan was a sleep talker.

Inquisitiveness chased away the self-disgust, and my hand was pushing up the frame of the window—the ministration almost unconscious, unthinking. The curiosity had won me over, and I wanted to hear what else he might say.

I swung my body through the opening and landed silently on the balls of my feet.

I took a more thorough inventory of the small room. The CD player on the table by the bed, a single clear jewel case sitting on top of it. The small shelf of books beside that.

Abruptly, I took a step toward the bookshelf, wondering which books he might keep on hand. Again, they were all perfectly arranged, each spine propped next to another, though many of the bindings were worn.

I drew up short when he stirred again, tossing his head once, toward me.

"No, Mom," he mumbled, "'S all good…" And then fell silent.

I glanced warily toward the open window. I really should have departed then…

Instead, I went to go sit in the rocking chair in the corner, curling my legs up underneath me and folding my arms over my middle to keep myself still.

He didn't speak for a long moment, and I shifted impatiently, drawing my leg up to my chest and resting my chin on my knee.

He really was quite striking, and I wondered why it hadn't occurred to me earlier. His thick, dark hair, mussed in his restless sleep… The full plushness of his lips, slightly parted in slumber. Though slim, the fine shape of muscle through his frame, especially along his arms.

I surprised myself with my reflections. It had been so long, nearly a century of living the human charade, of putting up a front, an act. It was unfamiliar and unsettling to have such… _Human_ thoughts.

I shook my head a little at myself. To even think of putting myself that close to this boy was insane. I had to think of the future, of the impossibility of it.

No matter what I felt for this human, I could not, would not, put him in harm's way. And everything about myself screamed _harm_. I could not bring myself to hurt him, couldn't stand even the possibility of it. And so, that would mean I would have to leave.

I felt my brows pull together at the thought. To him, I would be a strange shadow in his very short, very transitory life. The mysterious girl from his junior year biology class, who had done something impossible by saving his life, yes, but ultimately I was nothing more than a creature of the night—an abomination. He would move on quickly, I was sure of that. His fascination with me would fade quickly. Blatant as it was, I chose to ignore it. He wasn't fascinated by the girl—he was fascinated by the seduction of the predator.

Beau would easily find himself another—his options were varied enough, what with all of the admirers competing for his affections…

And I could not hope to compete against them. They all had the one thing I did not, could not ever, have: humanity. And with that humanity came safety, warmth, normalcy. To even think I could take any of that away from him was despicable. He deserved happiness with whomever he chose.

It was my duty now, to take moral action; and I forced myself to admit that the potential for loving this boy was a hazard, an insufferable prospect. Of course, it wasn't a prospect, there was no potential, because I did. I did have feelings for him, I was beginning to realize. Why else would I be here? Why else would I have stayed for as long as I already had in this tiny, inconsequential town?

Besides, the eventuality of my departure was meaningless, I realized with morbidity. Beau would never see me the way I saw him. I could never be worthy of his affections, of his attentions. I would never be worthy of the pure, living love this boy possessed. I was not deserving.

I was surprised to feel the odd sensation in my chest, the strange dull ache, the stab of hurt. Could I, the shell that I was, experience heartbreak?

"Edythe…"

My body shut down in reaction to his voice, my eyes fixed to his slack, unaware face, eyes still shut, thick lashes unmoving over prominent cheekbones. He had spoken my name so clearly, I had to assume he was awake, but… His heartbeat was just the same as it had been, his breath just as even, and as I sat there, unnaturally still, he rolled onto his side.

"Edythe," he repeated on a sigh.

The realization still had me frozen—he hadn't woken. He was still obliviously unaware, and he was still dreaming. But dreaming of me…

Something swelled inside me, and I leaned forward in the chair, desperate to hear more.

He frowned, just slightly, full lips turning down at the corners.

"Hey, don'…" he mumbled, "Don' go… Stay."

Dreaming of me, in the absence of horror and gore? In the absence of a nightmare? The concept was impossible, and yet, it was taking place. He wanted me to stay…

In that moment, something shifted inside me, not in a physiological way, but on a much, much deeper level. In this moment, I was forever changed, by the seemingly simple human boy sleeping in the bed across the room from me.

When Carine had changed me ninety years ago, every part of me had become still, unmoving, stone. My body, for one, of course, but more, still. Each facet of my personality, each preference for or against. For so many years I had been unchanging, exactly the same. But here, now, it was impossible to deny the change that was taking place.

My adoration for this human had changed me irrevocably, impossible to reverse. And now that I acknowledged it, the alteration of my life was clear: I would never be the same.

It was common knowledge that a change in an immortal was a rare and permanent thing. And it was happening to me now. I had seen it happen, twice. First in Carine, the love that had bonded her to Earnest, altered her forever. The way she still looked at him now, with an adoration that never changed. And then, again, a decade later, I had seen it in Royal, the day he'd met Eleanor.

The impossibility of my situation clawed at my consciousness, tortured me. I would have to leave him, if I truly did love him. And I did, love him, with everything that I was.

I knew I could not leave him now. I simply wasn't strong enough. But I would leave him one day. Because if I really did love him, I would have to leave, to step back in order to allow him the life he truly deserved.

This life was not for him. It was absolute depravity to imagine the possibility of it—the one side of the coin Archie had seen—and I forced the image of Beau's stone, marble face and bright crimson eyes from my mind.

There was only one option left—to stay with him until I gained the strength to leave, and to leave him human.

Was it possible? Was I anywhere near strong enough for that?

I supposed I would have to be.

Bracing myself, I inhaled deeply, allowing his fragrance to rip flames down my throat. His scent was stronger here than I had ever smelled it, ingrained into every surface of the room, swirling with utter potency in the air around me.

I breathed in deeply again, forcing myself to focus on the piercing pain. If I was going to stay, I was going to have to accustom myself to this sensation. It wouldn't get any easier from here on out.

But as I deigned on the agonizing sensation, I realized something—the terrible creature that had clawed and writhed and begged relentlessly that first day… She was no longer present. Abruptly gone.

The pain and the instinct that came with the burning held desire no more. And I knew now, that if I were to… kill him… It would be pure, tragic accident.

So I would have to be careful—extraordinarily careful, to keep my distance, to measure my breaths, to never, ever let my guard down. I would have to stay alert at every moment. I would have to be strong and unerring, if I truly wanted to be with him. Could I be? I would have to be.

I relaxed back into my seat, drawing a knee to my chest and took another breath, his scent swirling like a firestorm down my throat. I fixed my eyes on his face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep now, and waited for the sun to rise.

…

I ran home to change, returning just after the others had left for school.

I took a minute to examine myself in the mirror in my room. Did I look unassuming enough, did I appear threatening in any way? My eyes were a light honey ochre, my jeans and sweater didn't raise any eyebrows. I looked just as unassuming as any forever-seventeen-year-old-immortal-turned-heartstruck-fan-girl would.

On my way back downstairs, I found Earnest watching me, but he didn't say anything. His thoughts were a swirl of worry and relief. He saw the changed light in my eyes, and wondered about that. My long depression had saddened him, and he was glad to see it finally seeming to lift.

I could take only one guess at what—or, rather, _whom_ —had changed that for me.

I ran to school, arriving just seconds after my siblings had parked. I paused on the edge of the parking lot until I was sure no one was looking, and then stepped out from between a couple of parked cars.

I could hear the rumble of Beau's truck around the corner, and I paused behind a suburban so I could watch his arrival, unseen.

He drove into the lot and took a space across the lot from the Volvo. He did not look in its direction, seeming very intently focused on what he was doing. He turned off the ignition, gathered his things, and got out of the truck.

In a moment, a spear of self-doubt and hesitation struck me. He paid no mind to my car, and my possible whereabouts. I had spent so much of last night plotting and hoping and wondering… What if it was all for naught? Was I overestimating his interest in me? What if he didn't feel the same way I did? The dream, his uttering my name, it all could have been about something entirely inconsequential. Who did I honestly think I was? To be so sure of myself, so conceited, so idiotic…

I thought about it for a minute, the possibility that he did not return my feelings… Would it stop me from courting him? Probably not, but I at least owed it to him to give him fair warning as I did so.

I walked toward him, wondering how I would go about beginning, but then he gave me the perfect opportunity.

As he climbed out of the driver's seat, he fumbled his keys, dropping them into a deep puddle of icy water.

I was there before he had bent a third of the way, though his ineffective human sight did not comprehend my presence until he'd bent half-way.

I plucked his keys out of the cold water, and he jerked upright, almost smashing his head into my chin, but my reflexes were much more adept than his. I stepped carefully out of his path of self-destruction and leaned casually against his truck door.

"How do you _do_ that?" he demanded, sounding slightly flustered.

"Do what?" I held out his key while I spoke. His eyes were bluer than I had recalled. He reached for it, but before his hand could make contact with mine, I dropped the key into his palm. I drew a breath in through my nose, sucking in his absurdly sweet fragrance. It burned—as always.

"Appear out of thin air?"

"Beau," I teased, wondering if he noticed how my voice wrapped around his name so tenderly, knowing before I'd finished the sentence that the whole phrase was a paradox. He saw _everything_. "It's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant."

He only stared down at me, his eyes unfathomable, and I stared back, trying desperately to make sense of it all. Then he dropped his gaze to our feet, which were half a foot apart, and then up and over my shoulder, toward the courtyard beyond the parking lot.

"Why the traffic jam last night? I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist."

He was still confused, and I resolved to be as honest as I could with him. After all, he'd done nothing but cooperate with me. It was the least I could do to give him what insight I could.

"Ah. That was for Taylor's sake. She was figuratively dying for her chance at you."

He blinked. "What?" Irritated confusion bled into his voice.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," I continued. In fact, I was trying my very hardest to do the opposite now, trying to make up for time lost, I supposed. I kept my tone teasing, to keep the mood light. It would be easier this way, rather than giving me feelings away totally, and potentially scaring him off…

He met my gaze again. "I don't know what you want from me."

The self-doubt and anxiety over my unrequited love resurfaced. "Nothing," I lied quickly, and as much practice as I had in lying and acting and putting up various facades, for some reason, this time I couldn't quite do so. Beau Swan left me vulnerable and scattered, and feeling like I was on the constant verge of swooning—if that were possible for a vampire.

"Then you probably should have let the van take me out," he said, "Easier that way."

Cold anger bolted through me. "Beau, you are utterly absurd."

He didn't say anything, only jerked his chin up a fraction of an inch, and strode past me.

And the anger disappeared immediately, replaced by deep remorse. I had no right to be angry, none at all.

"Wait," I begged.

He kept walking, so I went after him.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," I apologized. "I'm not saying it wasn't true"—it was _ludicrous_ to think I wanted him anywhere near harm's way—"but it was rude to say it out loud."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" he groaned without looking at me.

 _Believe me,_ I wanted to say, _I've tried._

 _Oh, and one more thing—I'm hopelessly in love with you._

Keep it casual. Right.

"I wanted to ask you something, but you distracted me."

He exhaled, the inexorable cloud of his scent engulfing me, and he slowed his pace just slightly. I almost laughed at the action—as if he had to slow so that I could keep up. As if.

"Fine," he said, "What do you want?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—" I forced back the laughter when I saw his face blanch, "you know, the day of the spring dance—" I teased, having way too much fun with this.

He interrupted me, wheeling to stare down into my face. "Is this _funny_ to you?"

 _Hilarious, actually._ "Will you please allow me to finish?"

He didn't say anything, but he also didn't walk away from me again, so I figured I was good to go ahead.

"I heard that you were going to Seattle that day, and I wondered if you wanted a ride." I had realized that, instead of just finding out the answers to his where's and why's, I could maybe go along with them myself.

His face went blank. "Huh?"

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?" I took a second to ponder it—me, and him, alone in my car, his scent so very potent in the small space… My throat burned at just the thought.

 _Suck it up, sweetheart,_ I told myself. _It's not going to get any easier._

He was still clueless. "With who?"

"Myself, obviously."

"Why?"

"Well," I lied as casually as I could, "I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it." Again, teasing seemed safer than potentially scaring him off by professing my undying love and such.

His legs jerked into action again. "Make fun of me all you want, but leave the truck out of it."

 _Oh._ I'd hit a sore point. I pressed on, encouraged by the fact that he hadn't said 'no'.

"Why would you think that I'm making fun of you? The invitation is genuine."

"My truck is great, thanks."

Was this all just pre-emptive to him saying no? What would I do if he did decline?

"Can your truck make it to Seattle on one tank of gas?"

"I don't see how that's your problem."

That still wasn't a 'no'. And his heart rate was a little quicker, his breaths coming just a little more frequently. And I didn't think it was due to the… Advanced physical exertion he was doing by meandering across the high school parking lot.

I figured this was a good time for another joke. "The wasting of finite resources is everyone's problem."

"Seriously, Edythe," he said, and I felt a thrill rush through me at the sound of my name on his lips, "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

For a moment, I struggled between honesty and casualness, and then surmised that honesty was of a bigger priority, at least in regards to this.

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Oh, wow, great, so that's _all_ cleared up," he said sarcastically. He'd stopped walking again, and his eyes dropped to my face once more. His heartbeats stuttered. Was he afraid?

"It would be more… _prudent_ for you not to be my friend." And then, gazing into the lucid, clear cerulean of his gorgeous eyes, I lost all grasp on _casual_. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."

His breathing cut off then, and in that moment, I worried about how much I'd scared him. Had I done it? Had I overstepped my bounds? Frightened him off? I supposed there was only one way to find out…

"Will you accept a ride with me to Seattle?"

He didn't speak, but he nodded in assent.

Euphoria erupted inside my chest. Yes! He'd said yes, to _me_! I felt the flicker of an exultant and triumphant smile flicker on my face, and then I suppressed it, remembering my promise to give him fair warning.

"You really _should_ stay away from me."

Did he hear me? Would he escape the inauspicious future I was hell-bent on changing? Couldn't I do anything to spare him from the abomination that was myself?

 _Keep it light_ , I reminded myself.

"I'll see you in class."

I spun on my heel and walked away, forcing myself not to run.

 **A/N:** I don't know, just somethin' about this chapter gets me… _Oh, and by the way, I'm hopelessly in love with you…_ Ha! Maybe because Edythe's mood finally picks up here? That and the scene with the sleep-talking and her permanent change. Ah, the hopeless romantic in me swoons! Leave some love and lemme know what you thought! xo :)


	6. Blood Type

**A/N:** Hello, hello! I have been on a writing streak lately. These two, you guys. They've captured my heart and my full attention. I am swimming in the world of Life and Death, even when I'm not writing. My musical tastes, my thoughts—it's all revolving around Edythe and Beau, Edythe's thought processes, how she would respond to certain situations… Gah. Somebody help me xD. I'm trapped. Ah, the life of a writer…

Song of inspiration: "Parachute (Acoustic Version)" by Ingrid Michaelson

…

I watched Beau through the thoughts of the students around him all through my morning classes. Mostly I tried to avoid McKayla's thoughts, because her darkly inappropriate fantasies infuriated me. I steered around the Stanley boy when I could as well, as his friendship toward the boy was not completely genuine.

I preferred Allen Weber's thoughts when I got the opportunity—his head was a nice place to be. But when I couldn't access him, I used others, and the teachers if they had the best view.

I was surprised that I was able to add another thing to my tallying list of qualities I admired in Beau and/or found great amusement in. Beau was _clumsy_. It shocked me that I hadn't noticed his severe lack of ability to keep himself upright until now.

I remembered the way he'd staggered back from my horrendous glare in Biology class that first day, having to catch himself on the edge of Hanna Gall's table; the way his boots had slid around on the ice just before the accident in the lot; the way he'd stumbled over the doorway on his way out of class yesterday… Yes. Beau was rather clumsy. Endearingly so, and I found myself giggling under my breath on my way to English class from American History. Several people shot me suspicious looks, but I ignored them.

I wondered how I could have missed such an important, charming fact such as this one before. Possibly because, in stillness, Beau held this sort of poise about himself, the set of his jaw, the way he fixed his shoulders… There was nothing graceful about him now, as I watched, through Mrs. Varner's eyes, as he literally fell over nothing\ and into his seat. I laughed out loud again, garnering another few glances.

Some of the students had suspected I'd gone crazy. They weren't far off the mark, I supposed.

…

I was the first to the cafeteria after the bell, and so I had the advantage of being able to pick whichever table I pleased.

When my siblings came in and saw that I wasn't sitting at our usual place, their thoughts were filled with various reactions.

 _Lunatic._

 _Good luck…_

 _You've lost your mind, girl…_

And from Archie, only partially joking, _Can I talk to him yet?_

I rolled my eyes as he passed.

 _Don't forget about today's bio lab,_ he added.

"As if," I muttered under my breath. I had not forgotten.

I watched Beau's arrival through the eyes of the freshman girl walking behind him. She had her eyes trained on the back of his plaid flannel shirt, a gaggle of petty thoughts drifting through her head. I didn't pay them any mind.

I was pleased when, upon stepping inside, Beau's eyes immediately flickered to the table where my siblings sat. I thought, for just a split second, when his eyes dropped, that he looked disappointed not to find me there.

The familiar self-doubt rose inside me again. No. That couldn't be it. He had to have looked so sad over something else. Maybe he was regretting declining McKayla's invitation to the dance, or… Or something. I highly doubted _that_ was the reason, but I just couldn't bring myself to think that _I_ was the cause of his discouragement.

He only picked up a bottle of lemonade from the lunch line. I didn't know much about human diets or nutrition, but I did have the common sense to realize he needed more than _that_ for a sustainable lunch. Was he feeling unwell?

I found myself unnecessarily distracted by the thought, concerned over Beau's condition, and his frustrating fragility. There were so many things that could go wrong with a human's body. They were so infuriatingly delicate! From their physicality to their immune systems to their emotions…

"Edythe Cullen is staring at you again," Jeremy Stanley said to Beau, "I wonder why she's sitting alone today."

I was grateful to the boy—choosing to ignore his surly attitude—when Beau picked his head up and grazed the tables before his eyes finally locked on mine.

There was absolutely no sign of disappointment on his face any longer. In fact, he looked delighted to see me, and his expression filled me with joy. Joy so potent, I couldn't help but grin.

I lifted a hand and motioned with my pointer finger for him to join me. He looked so adorably puppy-doggish that I just had to continue to tease him. So I winked.

"Does she mean _you_?"

"Um…" Beau swallowed hard, still staring, "Maybe she needs help with her Biology homework. I guess I should go see what she wants."

It took him a minute, as he fumbled for his knapsack strap, and then to get his footing—honestly, _how_ had I not noticed how uncoordinated he was, before?—and then he was making his way over to me, winding around tables and between other students. He knocked into a couple.

When he stopped behind the chair directly across from me, I reminded myself to keep it casual.

 _Don't scare the poor thing off, now._

Purposefully, I drew a deep breath in through my nose, and the familiar firestorm swirled down my throat.

"Why don't you sit with me today?"

He didn't say anything, only yanked the plastic chair out with unsure motions, and practically fell into the seat again. I suppressed my laughter. He was just _too_ darling.

His eyes stayed on my face, that baffled expression still very present, and so, as a result, was my smile.

I waited for him to speak.

"This is, uh, different…" He stammered after a long moment.

"Well—" I paused, and then the next words came in a rush, "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

He only stared a moment more, possibly waiting for an explanation, but I had already said too much. I hadn't known what on earth had possessed me to say that, but I had, and maybe the subtle warning in my words would finally make sense to him.

He continued to stare.

And then, "You know I don't understand what you mean, right?"

"I'm counting on it."

McKayla Newton's insidious thoughts acted as a perfect segue into lighter topics—something I was grasping for, now.

"I think your friends are upset that I've stolen you."

"They'll survive," he grumbled.

I felt myself grin again. "I may not give you back, though."

Oops. Another slip… Hm. It proved difficult to keep my careful filter intact when I was around Beau. He was… Distracting.

Now, I heard him gulp loudly, and his nervousness made me laugh out loud.

"You look worried."

"No." His voice almost broke, and he swallowed again, betraying that very obvious worry… Which was very well placed. He _should_ be worried, and this _shouldn't_ have been funny to me… Except that it was. "But surprised, yes. What's this all about?" He waved his hand vaguely toward me and the empty table between us.

"I told you—I'm tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." I somehow managed to keep my lips turned up at the corners, though the balance between staying casual and serious simultaneously was grievously close to collapsing.

"Giving up?"

"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." Again, I'd said too much. But I supposed the words were warning enough, warning of my selfishness, warning of my danger… Would he intercept it?

"You lost me again."

"I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry—I don't understand anything you say," he tried to assure me.

"Like I said—I'm counting on that," I repeated. I noted that it was disgustingly self-serving of me to be pleased with that fact. It meant he'd stay.

There was another moment of pause, and after a long moment, his pulse quickened and heat began to rise beneath his skin… What was that about?

"So," he said, tearing his gaze away, "In plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends…" I rolled the word around in my mouth, but it was… Unpalatable.

"Or not," he muttered.

"Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you again that I'm not a good friend for you to have."

I was torn between two sides—wishing he'd understand and flee to safety; and yet, terrified of his conception of the danger I possessed. I wanted so badly for him to stay, but it was so much safer for him to go…

"You say that a lot," he noted. _I_ noted that his pulse picked up another couple of notches.

"I do," I explained, "because you're not listening. I'm still waiting for you to hear me. If you're smart, you'll avoid me." _Please don't go._

I watched his lips part into a smile so endearing it lit up the entire room. In response, I felt my own lips curl. Adorable. Delicious—thirst aside.

"I thought we'd already come to the conclusion that I'm an idiot. Or absurd, or whatever," he said.

"I did apologize," I reminded him, "—for the second one, at least. Will you forgive me for the first? I spoke without thinking."

"Yeah, of course," he assented immediately, which somehow made the guilt worse. I shouldn't have told him he was an idiot. It wasn't true in the slightest. He was brighter than most humans I'd met. "You don't have to apologize to me."

I sighed, suddenly heavy with shame. "Don't I?" There was _so much_ to be sorry for.

He didn't answer, gaze fixed on his hands, which were wrapped around the lemonade bottle on the table. Those eyes, filled with so many thoughts, so many questions… The old curiosity tormented me.

"What are you thinking?" I begged.

His face rose, eyes locking on mine, which I was sure were beseeching. His breathing rate picked up, just a tad, and that familiar heat rose behind his skin. I took a mouthful of air in, tasting his fragrance.

"I'm wondering what you are."

I froze, but I thought I managed to keep my casual smile in place. "Are you having much luck with that?" Of course he would wonder. Of course he would have his own theories and suspicions. He was an intelligent person—I had already come to that conclusion. But still, panic writhed inside me like a snake.

I had to find out what these theories were.

I tilted my head to the side, staring with searing intensity into his eyes, scrambling to force my way into his head, past the galaxy of unanswered possibilities… When that failed, I used my persuasive tone, the one that seemed to put the humans most at ease.

"Won't you tell me?"

He shook his head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's _really_ frustrating," I complained. The not knowing was driving me mad, and _why_ on earth would his suspicions _embarrass_ him? Ugh! Being blind—or deaf, rather—was so annoying!

"Really?" Beau cocked an eyebrow at me. Ostensibly, I'd hit a nerve. "Like… someone refusing to tell you what she's thinking, even if all the while she's making cryptic little comments designed to keep you up at night wondering what she could possibly mean… Frustrating like that?"

I pouted. He was right, of course. I was not being reasonable.

But he wasn't finished, apparently. Beau continued: "Or is it frustrating like, say, she's done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised? Frustrating like that?" He was breathing just a little heavier by the end of his tirade.

"You're really not over that yet?"

"Not quite yet."

"Would another apology help?" I would apologize a thousand times over for the things that I'd done, if it would help anything. But I suspected that it wouldn't.

"An explanation would be better," he said.

I cinched my lips together, and then glanced past him toward the table he'd abandoned—grappling for another topic changer.

 _…Like, what did he ever do to her? I ought to go over there and give her a piece of my mind…_

I laughed once. Right. Like _that_ would ever happen… And if she somehow garnered enough courage, like she'd ever, in a million years, stand a chance… I giggled again.

"What?" Beau demanded.

"Your girlfriend"—I used the word on purpose, because I knew it might rile him up again—that, and I could finally gain an understanding on where he stood in regards to their relationship—"thinks I'm being mean to you—she's debating whether or not to come break up our fight."

"I don't have a girlfriend, and you're trying to change the subject." Ah. Sweet relief. And something else, too… Triumph?

"You might not think of her that way, but it's how she thinks of you."

"There's no way that's true," he argued.

"It is," I assured him, "I told you, most people are very easy to read." Make of that what he would.

"Except me."

Ah. Very intelligent… "Yes, except for you…" In spite of every failure before now, I tried again, pinning my gaze to his, trying to focus, but ultimately finding myself lost in the depths of his eyes… They were as deep as mortal sleep, deep as the sea… "I wonder why that is…?"

He broke my trance by tearing his eyes from mine. I watched as he twisted the lid off his juice bottle and took a sip, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. I remembered that he hadn't selected any food, and the concern rose again, unbidden—ah, but yes, this was what happened, I supposed, when you loved someone. You would be concerned for their health…

"Aren't you hungry?"

"No. You?"

I had to bite back my inappropriate humor. "No, I'm not hungry."

He stared at me for a minute, and then something in his eyes shifted. "Can you do me a favor?"

Instantly I was cautious. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," he guaranteed me.

I didn't say anything, only waited for him to continue, wary. But also, mind-detonatingly curious.

"Could you—warn me… Beforehand? The next time you decide to ignore me? For my own good, or whatever. Just so I'm prepared."

He wasn't looking at me as he spoke these words, but it suddenly occurred to me that he'd been hurt by my avoidance, and compassion—along with something else, something like pleasure, excitement—flooded my throat. I smiled, realizing that if he had been hurt by my rejection, that meant that… well, he had seen it as a bad thing.

"That sounds fair," I acquiesced, trying to hide my blooming delight.

He glanced up at me. "Thanks."

"Can I have a favor in return?"

"Sure," he immediately assented.

"Tell me one of your theories."

He flushed. "No way."

"You promised me a favor," I reminded him.

"And you've broken promises before."

Well… Yes… But still. This wasn't the same.

"Just one theory—I won't laugh," I promised.

"Yes, you will." He seemed sure of that.

I gave gentle influence another try. I arranged my features into the correct expression and stared deep into his eyes. "Please?" I breathed softly.

I was surprised when the upper half of his body seemed to unconsciously lean toward me, across the table, and his face went completely expressionless, lips parting slightly, eyes widening marginally.

Well… _That_ hadn't worked very well… Now he wasn't saying anything at all… Or doing anything at all… Except staring.

He shook his head sharply, as if to orient himself. "Um… what?"

I found myself perplexed. Why was he acting this way? Was he alright?

"One little theory… Please?" I used my gentle voice again, and this time, to my immense pleasure and surprise, it worked.

"Well, er, bitten by a radioactive spider?"

Oh, please! _Marvel?_ That was the best he could come up with? Comic books? And along with the humored exasperation, relief. He was completely off the mark.

I rolled my eyes. "That's not very creative," I chided.

"Sorry," he apologized, "That's all I've got."

"You're not even close," I told him, feeling relaxed enough to tease again.

"No spiders?" he clarified.

"No spiders," I repeated.

"No radioactivity?"

"None at all," I assured him.

He humphed, obviously disappointed.

And then I had to laugh, because the joke was _this_ : He thought I was a _superhero…._ "Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," I had to tease.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?" he muttered.

I mashed my lips together, trying to compose myself, but his sullen disappointment was so entirely beguiling.

"I'll figure it out eventually."

The humor vanished. "I wish you wouldn't try." _Because then, surely, you'll run._

"How can I not wonder?" he complained, "I mean… you're impossible."

This was _all_ impossible… And how to make him see?

"But what if I'm not the superhero? What if I'm… the villain?" I smiled as I spoke, hoping to make the words sound playful, teasing, but in all honesty, they were all true, and all too real. I was _not_ the hero. I was _not_ … Good.

"Oh… Oh, okay." Understanding dawned in his eyes, lighting them up from the inside out, and sudden anxiety gripped me in its black clutches.

"What exactly does 'okay' mean?" I worked to hide my inner torment. He'd seen. He understood… And it was agonizing.

"You're dangerous?" he blurted. I could hear it when both his pulse and breathing hiked. And then after a long moment, during which I stared at the tabletop, unable to meet his eyes—terrified by the disgust and the horror I might see there—he murmured again, "Dangerous…" Here it came. The kicker. The punch line… "But not the villain," he disagreed, almost as if in conversation with only himself. "No, I don't believe that…" He was shaking his head slowly, and if I'd had the ability, I would have cried.

 _Oh, dear Beau… No._

"You're wrong," I insisted, hearing the way I'd shrunk into myself in light of the humiliation and the shame. To distract myself, I reached out for the cap of his lemonade bottle, spinning it between my fingers. There was an odd dry lump in my throat, and a burning behind my eyes.

 _Run, Beau. You have to run._

The legs of his chair scraped against the linoleum when he suddenly shoved back from the table, and the sound was like a bullet to the chest, or a brutal infarction in the gut. This was goodbye. He was leaving, now, and I forced myself to look up. It might have been selfish of me, but I wanted to see his face just one more time, commit it to my perfect, un-forgetting memory.

"We're going to be late," he said instead.

Surprise, first, was what came over me. It hadn't been what I'd been expecting to hear. And then… Pleasure. Pleasure that he was still in the dark, as self-gratifying as that was… And then, finally, humor. Because, of course. Beau was good, and he would not take pleasure in being late for class.

"I'm not going to class today," I told him, twirling the lid once more.

"Why not?"

 _Because I would rather not kill you._ "It's healthy to ditch class now and then."

To be clear, it was better for the humans if the vampires played hooky on days when human blood would be spilt. Mrs. Banner was blood typing today. Archie had already ditched his morning class.

"Oh. Well, I guess… I should go…" The statement sounded more like a question, and he hesitated, half-turned toward the doors, the strap of his bag fisted in his left hand. His eyes stayed on me for a long, indeterminable moment.

I didn't take the time to think much of his hesitation. "I'll see you later, then." _Oh, and I love you… In startling and perilous ways._

He didn't even hesitate as he turned and rushed from the room.

I stood once he was gone, tucking the bottle cap into the pocket of my leather jacket, and headed to my car to wait out the hour.

…

The slow progression of an emerging symphony, one that only I could hear inside my mind, notes that were sweet and subtle and tender, was interrupted by the mêlée in McKayla Newton's thoughts.

I opened my eyes, the new composition breaking off, my hands falling from where they'd been unconsciously raised, fingers flowing over invisible piano keys.

 _Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod, what am I gonna do? Is he gonna pass out? Ugh—he's heavy!_ Panic seized her mind, and I jerked my face in the direction of that inner voice. A hundred yards away, McKayla huffed an exerted sigh of relief as she helped Beau settle onto the concrete. He slumped over to one side, totally limp, cheek pressed to the wetness of the sidewalk. He was absolutely white—paler than a blood-drained corpse.

I almost took the door off the car.

"Beau?" My voice was loud and clear, almost metallic with alarm.

He didn't respond to the call of his name, and I strode toward them, searching McKayla's thoughts feverishly for answers.

 _Oh, of_ course. She groaned internally. _Edythe freaking Cullen. Why can't she just disappear like she did three months ago?_

"What's wrong? Is he hurt?" I demanded, desperate to sift past her petulant anger toward me, so I could find out what was wrong with him. I was going to go insane, being forced to walk this slowly. I shouldn't have called attention to myself so soon, but the concern had overtaken me.

Then, I could hear him breathing—slowly and evenly, and his heartbeat. He was fine. I saw the flicker of memories in McKayla's head—the sleek tops of the biology tables, Beau's head resting against it, fair skin a worrying shade of green… Drops of blood on white cards… Blood typing.

I stopped where I was and cut off my breathing. His scent was one thing; his flowing blood, however, entirely another.

"I think he fainted. I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."

Relief washed over me, and I allowed myself to breathe again. I noticed, then, the swirl of McKayla's fresh blood in the air. Strange how it did not appeal to me in this moment.

"Beau, can you hear me?" I knelt down by his head, resisting the urge to reach out and brush a stray hair from his perspiration-slicked forehead.

McKayla's thoughts were infuriated as she hovered next to me, unsure and indignant.

"No," he groaned.

I couldn't help but laugh. Ah, he was perfectly fine.

"I was trying to help him to the nurse," McKayla explained, every bit as defensive and irate as her thoughts alluded to, "But he wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take him. You can go back to class." I knew how much this would further irritate her, and the thought amused me.

"What?" she squeaked, "No! _I'm_ supposed to…"

But I didn't let her finish. I wasn't going to stand around and argue with the contrivable little blonde.

Simultaneous amounts of thrilled and nervous electric energy sparked through me at the prospect of touching Beau. But how to do this without giving my total strength away to McKayla…? I wouldn't have minded showing off, just a bit, but then… I _was_ trying to keep a low profile…

I slid an arm under both of his and hoisted him upright. I held him tight against the side of my body. He was much taller than I was, but that wasn't an issue. The bigger issue was making it seem like I was at least struggling a _little_ bit… To McKayla.

I strode forward, aware that I was mostly dragging his feet along the sidewalk, hoping McKayla wouldn't notice. But she wasn't even looking at Beau now. She was glaring daggers at the back of my head.

I was dangerously close to the boy, most of his frame draped over me, my head pressed against his chest, and his heartbeat was strong. The warmth of his skin, even through his three layers of clothing—t-shirt, undone flannel button-down, rain jacket—was surprisingly pleasant.

"I'm good, I swear," he protested weakly in embarrassment.

"Hey!" McKayla called after us, but I didn't pay her any mind.

"You look simply awful," I told Beau, the amusement of the entire situation causing me to smile. That, and the intense relief that all that was wrong with him was a little bit of dizziness and an uneasy stomach.

"Just put me back on the sidewalk," he wheedled, "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

I pulled us forward, in a rush to get him to safety now, and away from me.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" Could the irony of this situation be anymore hilarious? "And not even your own blood!" I giggled.

"I have a weak vasovagal system. It's just a neurally mediated syncope."

I laughed again. His use of large terminology in an effort to impress me was surprisingly charming.

We were to the office door now, and I reached out with one hand to twist the knob and push the door open. Mr. Cope jumped when we stepped inside and he saw the ashy-looking boy leaning heavily against me.

"Oh my."

"He's having a neurally mediated syncope," I explained, teasing just a bit in my mockery of Beau's large words.

"Should I call nine-one-one?" Mr. Cope inquired, panicked. He didn't know what a neurally mediated syncope was. I pressed my lips together to stop myself from laughing.

"It's just a fainting spell," Beau insisted.

I dragged him toward the infirmary. Mr. Cope held the door for us, and I stepped inside, helping him up onto the slim cot. The paper underneath crinkled loudly as I pushed against his chest with one hand, swinging his legs up onto the mattress with the other.

And then I put the width of the room between us. My body was too excited, too keen, my muscles coiled and the venom flowing. He was so warm and sweet-smelling…

"They're blood typing in Biology," I explained to the male nurse, Mr. Hammond, who had looked up from the novel he was reading. He understood now.

He nodded sagely. "There's always one."

I tried to disguise my laughter as a cough behind my hand. Of course Beau would be _that one_.

"Just lie down for a minute, son. It'll pass."

"I know." Beau's eyes were still closed, but there was color returning to his face now. His lips weren't quite so white anymore.

"Does this happen a lot?" Mr. Hammond inquired.

Beau exhaled. "I have a weak vasovagal system. Sometimes."

I couldn't hide my laughter this time.

Mr. Hammond seemed to notice that I was still standing there, then, and he turned toward me. "You can go back to class now."

"I'm supposed to stay with him." I said the lie with enough confidence that I knew he wouldn't bother me about it again.

 _Hmm… I wonder… oh, well._ Mr. Hammond let it go, and then reported that he was going to get some ice for Beau's head. Once he was out of the room, Beau's eyelids fell shut again.

"You were right," he barely whispered.

What? What did that mean? Had he finally caught on to my warnings?

"I usually am—but about what in particular this time?" I tried to keep my tone casual, but didn't think I quite succeeded.

"Ditching _is_ healthy."

That hadn't been quite what I'd been expecting to hear—obviously—and so it took me a minute to answer, the relief was so potent. He focused on breathing evenly for a few moments, and I found my eyes trained on the pinkness of his lips. They were beautifully crafted, perfectly shaped—to human eyes, at least. I could see the slight inconsistency of his bottom lip with his top. But, somehow, that made him all the more perfect. It did strange things to me, staring at that mouth… It made me want to shift closer to him, which was _not_ a good idea.

"You scared me for a minute there," I said, more to distract myself than anything, "I thought that Newton girl had poisoned you."

"Hilarious," he deadpanned. He still had his eyes shut, but most of the color had returned to his face now.

"Honestly," I insisted, shameful of the vulnerability I felt in admitting the words, "I've seen corpses with better color." Totally true. "I was concerned that I might have to avenge your death." Also totally true.

"I bet McKayla's annoyed," he guessed.

"She absolutely loathes me," I reported, cheered by the idea.

"You don't know that," he argued.

"You should have seen her face. It was obvious."

"How did you even see us?" he asked, "I thought you were ditching."

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Which I actually had been, at least to start off with. But then the music had started up in my head, and I'd turned down Debussy to listen to that instead.

Mr. Hammond returned then, with a cold compress in his hand.

"Here you go, son," he said as he laid it across Beau's forehead. "You're looking better."

"I think I'm okay," Beau insisted, pulling his long body up into a seated position. One of my hands twitched at my side, ready to reach out and catch him if he warbled. I resisted the urge to step to his side.

Mr. Hammond considered making him lie back down again, but the door popped open and Mr. Cope leaned his head in. With it, I caught just the slightest hint of blood.

"We've got another one."

Beau swung himself off the cot, in a rush to be free of the scrutiny, I thought. "Here, I don't need this." He pressed the ice pack back into Mr. Hammond's hand.

McKayla staggered through the door then, supporting Leann Stephens, another girl from fifth period Biology. Her face was green, but that wasn't what concerned me. Blood was still trickling down the side of the hand that Leann held to her face, curving around the knob of her wrist.

And this was where I took my leave… And Beau, too.

"Oh no. Get out to the office, Beau."

He just stared at me a minute, perplexed.

"Trust me—go."

He spun and caught the door before it closed, escaping the tiny, warm room just in time. I was right on his heels.

He turned to gaze at me, still bemused.

"You actually listened to me." A first.

"I smelled the blood," he said.

"People can't smell blood."

"I can," he insisted, "That's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."

I could only stare at him for a minute. Who _was_ this boy?

"What?"

"It's nothing."

McKayla's presence interrupted us, her thoughts a swirling vortex of envious insults. She glanced between the two of us for a moment.

"Thanks so much for your help, Edythe," she told me, curdling her words into sickly sweetness on purpose. She didn't mean a word of it. "I don't know what Beau here would have done without you."

"Don't mention it." _Oh, sweetheart… You don't stand a chance._

"You look better," she said to him in the same tone—which sounded much ruder now that it was directed toward Beau, "I'm _so_ glad."

My hand twitched. I would have liked to beat some manners into that little blonde head of hers. Nevertheless, I resisted.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," Beau cautioned her.

"It's not bleeding anymore," she insisted, her tone more normal now, "Are you coming to class?"

"No thanks. I'd just have to turn around and come back."

I was surprised at the jolt of pleasure that brought on. Here I'd thought I would have to miss out on his company for another entire hour. Instead, I was getting _extra_ time.

"Yeah, I guess," she agreed reluctantly. "So are you going this weekend? To the beach?"

Ah, right. They had plans. It was a group endeavor at any rate, but the envy rose up in me anyway, fresh and green.

"Sure, I said I was in."

His acquiescence burned like acid. He'd said yes to her, too, and suddenly I was feeling very inadequate.

"We're meeting at my parents' store at ten." McKayla glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, hoping I wasn't catching on to any of this. She wasn't particularly partial to my presence at the outing.

"I'll be there," he promised her.

"I'll see you in Gym, then," she told him, moving toward the door.

"Yeah, see you."

It brightened my mood just a bit to hear McKayla's own thoughts of dejection and inadequacy as she left the two of us alone in the office.

"Ugh, Gym," Beau moaned.

"I can take care of that," I murmured in his ear. He jumped at my sudden proximity. "Go sit down and look pale."

I focused on the way the heat of his skin radiated against my lips and my face, and then he did as I asked, moving away from me to take a seat in the bank of chairs by the wall. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes.

Mr. Cope had returned to his desk, and I turned toward him now.

"Mr. Cope?" I used my non-threatening voice.

"Yes?"

"Beau has Gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should drive him home. Do you mind excusing him from class?"

 _Get ahold of yourself, Sheldon. Sure, she's pretty… Real pretty, but she's too young! Too young!_ I noted the acceleration of his heartbeat and his breath, the strange lack of expression on his face… Hm. It hadn't occurred to me before that these same responses in Beau could have been because he found me physically attractive… Instead of frightening… Interesting.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edythe?"

"No, I have Mr. Goff. He won't mind."

I wasn't paying any mind to Mr. Cope's inappropriate reactions now—I was busy entertaining the possibility. Yes, I supposed it was possible that Beau found me attractive, like many other humans did. But then… When were Beau's reactions anything close to what I'd been suspecting? I quashed my hopes quickly.

Mr. Cope typed the excuse note into his computer. "Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Beau," he called past me.

Beau nodded weakly, not quite convincing. I thought acting might be out of his range of career possibilities…

I strode back over to him, taking advantage of his unawareness for just a moment, looking down at him, at the smooth planes of his face, the thickness of his lashes, the soft plushness of his lips. And, of course, as always, beguiled by his unassuming awkwardness.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to help you again?" I teased. I knew what his answer would be, of course.

"I'll walk."

Ah. Self-gratification. I was getting to know him better.

He stood slowly, as if checking himself, and then once deciding he had his balance, we headed for the door. I held it open for him, and he walked past me into the finely misting rain. He paused on the office steps for a minute, tilting his face skyward, letting the rain wash over his skin, and I watched him, fascinated, wondering what was going through his mind.

"Thanks for that," he said, "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."

Ah, because he was such a klutz. Right.

"Anytime." I wondered how I could stretch this time with him out…

"So are you going?" he asked as we turned left on the sidewalk, heading toward the parking lot, "This Saturday—the beach trip?" Did I hear the wary hope in his voice? Or was I imagining it?

I entertained the notion that he _was_ hopeful, that he wanted me to come along, that he preferred my presence over the Newton girl's. But then, there were things to consider. The sun would be shining this Saturday, and McKayla had mentioned _beach_.

"Where are you all going?" I told myself not to get too excited over the prospect, but I could feel it—could picture myself somewhere, with Beau, talking like a normal teenage girl, an endless opportunity of time to stare at his face, to find out all that I could about him…

"Down to La Push, to First Beach."

 _Well, damn._ Then it was impossible. Besides, El would be upset if I cancelled our plans. I looked up at him, casting a careful smile, hating to reject his invitation. "I really don't think I was invited."

"I just invited you."

I tried to ignore the thrill that rushed through me at those words.

"Let's you and I not antagonize poor McKayla any more this week. We don't want her to snap." For a moment, I entertained that mental image… _Poor McKayla—_ snapping…

"Fine, whatever," he grumbled, and his disappointment was unavoidable. This made me happy—that he was disappointed by my rejection.

I grinned, and then he started walking away from me. Where was he going?

I reached out, gripping the material of his jacket in my fist without thinking. He staggered back half a step.

"Where are you going?" I was surprised by the stab of pain this elicited in me. I had _not_ had enough of him yet.

He stared at me over his shoulder for a second, looking bewildered.

"Beau?"

"Uh, what?"

"I asked where you were going."

"Home…" He said haltingly, unsure, "Or am I not?"

Ah… He thought he was well enough to drive. Well. "Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?"

"What… Condition?" He was still baffled, looking just like a lost, blue-eyed puppy.

I fought to keep the tenderness out of my voice in response to his expression. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have a weak vasovagal system."

"I think I'll survive," he said wryly. He turned and tried to take another step toward his truck, but I did not release his jacket, and he didn't go anywhere. He jerked to a stop again and glanced down at me once more.

"Okay. Why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"

Good boy. I grinned. "Very sensible. You're going to get into my car, and I am going to drive you home."

"I have two issues with that," he protested, "One, it's not necessary, and two, what about my truck?"

"One, _necessary_ is a subjective word, and two, I'll have Archie drop it off after school." Easy.

He didn't say anything, just stared at me for another moment, some unspoken thought swirling in his eyes.

"Are you going to put up a fuss?"

"Is there any point in resisting?" he asked, already seeming resigned to the inevitable. He caught on quickly, I had to say.

"It warms my cold heart to see you learning so quickly. This way."

I dropped his jacket, pretty sure he'd follow me now, and turned toward where my siblings had parked this morning.

Once we were in the car, I turned on the heat so he'd be comfortable, and turned the music down until it was at a nice background level. As I reversed and headed toward the exit, recognition lit up his eyes.

"Is that 'Clair de Lune'?"

I glanced over at him, surprised. "You're a fan of Debussy?" He was a fan of the classics? How endearingly unexpected.

He shrugged. "My mom plays a lot of classical stuff around the house. I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too."

Something warm settled in my chest upon the discovery of our small token of similarity.

"Well, imagine that," he joked, "We have something in common."

Ah. And suddenly I was very sober. Yes, indeed, we did have something in common in reference to our taste in music. But that was about the only thing, out of everything. I stared out the windshield, into the rain, which was steadily picking up.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him relax into the seat, and I took advantage of his momentary inattention to experiment with breathing.

I drew a breath in through my nose and flinched, tightening my fingers around the steering wheel. How was it possible for him to smell even _better_ in the rain? His fragrance was impossibly more potent, sweeter…

"What's your mother like?" I asked in order to distract myself from the path my thoughts had suddenly taken.

"She kind of looks like me—same eyes, same color hair—but she's short." Did he notice the way he smiled as he spoke of his mother; did he recognize the tender tone his voice had taken on? "She's an extrovert, and pretty brave. She's also slightly eccentric, a little irresponsible, and a very unpredictable cook. She was my best friend." Something deep in my chest panged when his voice turned sad toward the end of his short monologue.

Once more, I was struck by the maturity in his voice, in the way he saw his mother—as if he were the parent, and she the child.

I pulled up to the curb in front of his house, wondering too late if it was strange that I knew where he lived. I quickly decided against it. It was a small town, and with his father being a public figure, this wouldn't seem unusual.

"How old are you, Beau?" He seemed so mature for a junior in high school.

"I'm… Seventeen."

"You don't seem seventeen."

Unexpectedly, he laughed, and the sound of it caused the edges of my lips to turn up.

"What?" I inquired.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." He laughed again, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." So I'd been well-placed in my assumptions. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school, either."

I made a face and changed the subject. "Why did your mother marry Phil?"

He paused a second. "My mom… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. Anyway, she's crazy about him." The adoration and love for his mother was there in his voice, but there was something underneath, something he maybe didn't quite want me to catch…

"Do you approve?"

Again, he shrugged. "I want her to be happy, and he's who she wants."

I mulled this over a moment, wondering if she'd want the same for him, if the situation were reversed. "That's very generous… I wonder…"

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?"

It was a foolish question to ask, and I could not keep my tone as casual as I would have liked to while I spoke the words. Of course, it would not be the same in this particular situation. No one would ever approve of a monster for their son…

"I—I think so," he stuttered, looking a little less than composed in reaction to my stare—fear? Or attraction? "But she's the adult—on paper at least. It's a little different."

I smiled, feeling my expression soften. "No one too scary, then," I managed to tease.

He grinned, too, and the beauty of it twisted something poignant in my stomach. "What do you mean by scary?" he asked, "Tattoos and facial piercings?"

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's your definition?"

Of course he would want to know. I ignored that question and asked another: "Do you think _I_ could be scary?" I raised a teasing eyebrow at him, trying to smile.

He examined my face for a long moment, his eyes searching. Finally, he said, a little unsteadily, "It's kind of hard to imagine that." I could only imagine what El's reaction would have been if she'd heard that. "But, I mean, I'm sure you could be, if you wanted to." It seemed he was making amends for me—didn't really think I was threatening… How could that be? I'd seen the fear on his face in the past, I'd seen how he'd reacted to me… Either he was not telling the entire truth or… And I found myself thinking of fear versus attraction, once more. Did I _want_ him to be afraid of me? Was that why I felt… Discouraged? Or was I glad he wasn't, and did I hope for the latter?

"So are you going to tell me about your family?" he asked, breaking me free from my reverie. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

Doubtful. Not more interesting, no. Not more beguiling, or charming, or fascinating… Frightening, yes. "What do you want to know?" I sounded careful.

"The Cullens adopted you?" he assumed, likely having heard this from the grapevine.

"Yes."

He paused. "What happened to your parents?" He asked it in a gentle way, a hesitant way, as if he were afraid of bringing up something painful for me.

I was touched by his kindness, and I answered truthfully because I could: "They died many years ago."

"I'm sorry." The apology, I could see, was genuine. His eyes swam with sympathy and emotion.

The torment plagued me once more. What was I _doing_ here? He was too kind, too virtuous.

"I don't really remember them clearly," I admitted, "Carine and Earnest have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." This wasn't a question.

"Yes." I smiled indulgently. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"Then you're very lucky."

"I know it."

"And your brother and sister?" he pushed.

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard, realizing I'd lost track of the time. My siblings would not be happy with me if I left them abandoned. I also might have been using the timing as an excuse. If he pushed for too many more details, I would have to lie—and I didn't want to have to do that. "My brother and sister, and Jessamine and Royal for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." I recognized the note of dejection in his tone, and suddenly, I would very much have liked to reach out and touch his hand. But I couldn't do that. I didn't want to see the way he would shudder away from my cold skin. It would sting too much.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home and you have to explain about the syncopal episode." The memory of his flustered embarrassment brought a smile to my face.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks," he grumbled.

I laughed at that. Oh, he didn't know the half of it.

"Have fun at the beach." I glanced out the window at the pouring rain. It would not last, and for the first time, I found myself wishing it would… "Good weather for sunbathing." Or, at least, it would be come Saturday. And I knew he'd like that. He had mentioned missing the sun before.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

Again, the disappointment in his voice pleased me. "No. Eleanor and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" He still sounded sad.

"We'll be hiking the Goat Rock Wilderness, just south of Rainier." Eleanor was itching for a taste of her favorite animal.

"Oh, sounds fun."

I was surprised, when I turned my eyes on him again, at the anxiety that welled up inside my chest. It was almost agony to picture myself leaving, if only for a short time. He looked so vulnerable, and soft… Like anything could happen to him. For a moment, frantic worry consumed me. I was terrified to let him out of my sight, but then… Wasn't _I_ the worst thing that could happen to him, above all else?

I smiled at him. "Will you do something for me this weekend?"

He stared back at me, bewildered by my intensity. He nodded wordlessly.

I took the single moment of his distraction to my advantage—I leaned forward, detecting the scent of his truck's metal key easily, and picked it from his jacket pocket effortlessly.

 _Casual_ , I reminded myself as I quickly—too quickly for human eyes to intercept—slipped his key into my own pocket.

"Don't be offended," I began, "but you seem to be one of those people who just attracts accidents like a magnet. Try not to fall into the ocean or get run over by anything, alright?" I grinned wider, seeing the sting in his eyes, hoping the smile would dull it some.

"I'll see what I can do."

He jumped out of the car and into the downpour, running for the eave of his house, and I found myself smiling softly as I drove away, fingers clutched around the still-warm brass of his key.

…

 **A/N:** Edythe has always seemed slightly less serious to me, than Edward always was. And I don't know about you, but I love me a quiet, awkward, clumsy boy with bright blue eyes. Obviously Edythe feels the same way :P As always, please leave me some feedback and let me know what you thought of this chapter! xo


	7. Melody

**A/N:** Hi, readers! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and exploring the family dynamic between Edythe, Earnest and her siblings, of course. I'm excited to share this one with you guys. No specific songs to act as inspiration for the chapter, but I did listen through "Bella's Lullaby" and "Heart and Soul" duets while writing. So if you want to reminisce a bit, go ahead and listen. I particularly like the cover of Bella's lullaby by Scott Bazzle (on Youtube). It's simple, but he puts his own sweet twist on it. See ya at the end!

(P.S. Though I hadn't received many questions on it, I often have Edythe's siblings refer to her nickname 'Edy'. Just for any confusions' sake, I pronounce it [Ee-dee].)

…

I jumped when the passenger door opened.

 _Ha! Gotcha!_ Eleanor enthused as she slid into the car, _That's a new one._ "Where were you today?" she added out loud.

My mood had turned sullen, as I'd sat there, waiting for my siblings to be released from their classes. I had let my imagination get away from me, imagining impossible things, wishing so badly that I could feel the warmth of Beau's skin on my face, my lips again, surprised at the desire behind it.

I didn't remember ever feeling anything like this during my human years. _Surely_ this yearning would be a feeling I would remember, even through the cloudy, muddled filter of human memory.

"I was… Being a good Samaritan," I explained to El.

Her brow wrinkled. _What?_

"Caring for the sick…" I said, and giggled, "Or something along those lines."

 _What are you…?_ But then she caught the lingering scent in the car, and she understood. _Oh. He_ does _smell good._

The low, feral hiss slid through my teeth before I could reign my temper in.

"Easy," she warned, holding up a palm, "I'm just observing."

The others' arrival distracted me. Royal smelt Beau right away, and immediately disapproved. I ignored his glare as he slid into the backseat.

I wasn't a fan of Jessamine's reaction, either. Like El, she'd noticed the sweet fragrance of Beau's scent. Their desire didn't hold a candle to mine, but still. I didn't trust Jess all that much when it came to self-control.

Archie strolled to my side of the car and held his hand out for Beau's key.

"I only saw that I was. You'll have to tell me why later."

"This doesn't mean you can talk to him yet."

"Yeah, yeah." He rolled his eyes, untroubled, "It won't be long anyway."

I sighed and passed over the key.

…

For the first time in a very long time, I did not run off to Seattle as soon as we got out of the car at home.

Instead, I went inside with my siblings and stood by the door while they all settled in to their various hobbies.

Royal flopped onto the sofa, flicking through twenty channels a second, not really interested in anything. He contemplated going out to the garage to tinker around on his BMW.

El and Jess had been in the middle of an extravagant game of chess when they'd left for school this morning. Eight chess boards had been pieced together along the back glass wall, and they settled back in where they'd left off easily. They'd made up their own complicated set of rules, and they wouldn't let me play. Archie was the only one who would willingly compete against me anymore. Usually, I won those games anyway.

Eleanor hated to see us play, because we'd both just sit there, staring at the board. Archie would foresee my moves, and I would read his moves in his thoughts before he made them. Finally, Archie would concede defeat and knock his king over.

Now, Archie went to his computer just around the corner from them, and I heard his monitors hum to life. He was working on a joint interior renovation project with Earnest.

And Earnest was out on the back porch, in the process of sanding down a part of the aforementioned project. It was a century old hutch of some sort.

Eventually, Archie leaned around the partition and started mouthing Eleanor's moves to Jess. Eleanor sat on the floor with her back to him, so she couldn't see what was going on. Smoothly and without expression on her face, Jessamine cut off El's last knight.

And I, for the first time in so long I felt embarrassed, went to sit on the smooth pearly bench in front of my grand piano just off the entryway.

I brushed my fingers tenderly along the keys, testing the pitch. The tuning was still perfect.

Outside, Earnest paused to listen, lifting his sanding paper from the surface of the wood.

I shut my eyes and brought to recall the tune that had come to mind in my car earlier today. I was pleased to find that it sounded better than I had imagined, and the next line came easily, effortlessly.

 _Edythe is playing again,_ Earnest noted happily, and he strode across the back porch to stand by the door.

I added a harmonizing line, braiding in the central melody.

Earnest sighed contentedly and leaned against the side of the house. _A new song. It's been so long. It sounds beautiful._

I followed the melody in a different direction, letting the singing emotions in my body lead me, trailing in the bass line.

 _Edythe is composing again?_ Royal thought, the note of resentment still in his thoughts, as his teeth clenched together.

In that moment, his resoluteness wavered, and I saw all of the underlying outrage in his thoughts toward me. I saw why he had been so ill-tempered with me in the last while; why he felt little to no remorse over the thought of killing Beaufort Swan.

With Royal, it was always about himself.

A sharp note of laughter escaped my mouth before I could stop myself, and I stopped playing, clapping a hand over my lips.

Royal turned his baleful, humiliated glare on me, his eyes sparking like fire.

Eleanor and Jessamine turned to look at me, too, throwing confused glances between myself and my oldest younger brother. Earnest came inside, and I heard his confusion too.

"Don't stop, Edythe," he encouraged after a moment.

I turned my back to Royal, fighting to reign in the wide grin on my face, and I began to play again. He rose from the couch and stomped from the room, the anger in his thoughts more apparent than the humiliation in this moment, but he was definitely that, too.

 _If you say anything, to anybody, I will hunt you down like the wild, twisted animal you are._

I muffled another laugh in the thick neck of my cowl sweater.

"Roy?" Eleanor called after him, "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer, his shoulders stiff as he headed for the garage. I laughed out loud again as he positioned himself underneath his car as if he could bury himself there.

Eleanor turned to me for answers. "What was that about?"

I clamped my mouth shut. "No idea," I lied.

Her eyes narrowed, clearly unsatisfied with my answer.

"Keep playing, Edythe," Earnest urged, for my hands had paused over the keys once more.

I did as he asked, and he came up behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder.

The song was gripping, but there was some part of it that was missing. I played with a bridge, but that didn't suit it.

"It's charming. Does it have a name?" Earnest inquired.

"Not yet."

"Is there a story behind it?" he asked, a smile in his voice. He was overjoyed by the fact that I was playing again, and guilt surged anew. It had been selfish of me to neglect my passions for such a length of time—long-standing depression aside.

"It's… a lullaby, I suppose," I said, and with the words, the bridge flowed easily. My hands began to move of their own accord once more, in telekinetic response to the magnetic, gravitational pull of the energy inside me.

"Hm, a lullaby," Earnest murmured to himself, intrigued.

There _was_ a story behind the song, and once that became clear to me, the pieces of the puzzle came together perfectly. The story was a sleeping boy in a narrow bed, long legs and arms draped carelessly over the mattress, sheets twisted and snarled around his wayward limbs… Full lips parted slightly in slumber, thick, dark hair askew…

Archie came to sit beside me on the bench, throwing an arm around my shoulders as I continued to play. In his clear, perfect voice, he hummed out a wordless decrescendo two octaves below the melody.

"I like it," I murmured, "But what about this?"

I added his bit to the song, my hands flying over the keys with a mind of their own now, racing to add in the complexity of my feelings all at once, and the song began to take a new direction.

He caught on, and continued to sing his own version.

But I could see where this would end, where Archie was trying to take the song. What he didn't know was that the boy was exactly perfect where he was, sleeping in that small, narrow bed. Any difference, any shift, would be a tragedy, a wrongness. The song drifted toward that realization slowly, methodically, and Archie stopped singing now.

I played the last note, and hung my head solemnly over the keys.

Earnest tucked my hair out of my face, hooking it behind my ear. _It's going to be fine, Edythe,_ he reassured me, _This is going to work out for the best. You_ deserve _happiness, sweetheart. Fate owes you that._

"Thanks," I breathed, wishing fervently that I could believe his words.

 _Love doesn't always come in convenient packages._

I laughed once without humor.

 _You, out of everyone on this planet, are perhaps best-equipped to deal with such a difficult quandary. You are the best and the brightest of us all._

A lump, thick and uncomfortable, rose in my throat again and I sighed. Every father thought the same of his daughter.

Earnest was still full of joy over the fact that my heart had been stolen after all of my time alone, no matter the potential for catastrophe. He had feared that I would never find love, that I would always be the lonely and melancholy girl who played sad songs on the piano.

 _He has to love you back. If he's bright. But I can't imagine anyone being so dull they wouldn't see the catch you are._

"Oh, stop," I chided, a shy smile turning my lips up at the corners, unbidden, "You'll make me blush, Dad."

He chuckled and smoothed his hand over the top of my head, his thoughts full of tenderness and love. His hope that everything would absolve itself garnered my own.

Archie laughed, too, and then he reached up and played out the top hand of "Heart and Soul". I smiled and joined in on the happy duet. Archie finished it up with his own little flourish, and we all laughed.

Archie lowered himself onto the floor and leaned back against the huge potted plant next to the piano.

"I wish you'd tell me why you were laughing at Roy." He sighed. "But I can see that you won't."

I grinned down at him, curling my legs up underneath me on the bench and rotating away from the keys. "Not a chance."

He glared sourly at me and mouthed an unpleasant slur.

"Be nice, Archie," Earnest chided.

He laughed. "But I want to _know_!"

I laughed at his petulant tone, and then swung myself around toward the keys again. "Here, Earnest." I began to play the piece I'd composed and played for them at their wedding.

"Ah," Earnest sighed, remembering the day as the music flowed, "Thank you, dear."

I didn't have to concentrate to play the familiar piece, and so I let my mind drift back to Royal as I tapped out the correct sequence of keys. Having just realized the potency of jealousy for myself, I felt a small bit of pity for him. It was an unpleasant way to feel. Of course, his jealousy was much more petty than my own, but still.

I wondered how Royal might have turned out differently if he had not always been so good-looking. Would he have been happier if his looks hadn't always been his main selling point? Less egocentric? More compassionate? However, I supposed it was pointless to think about, because he always _had_ been the most handsome, and the past was the past.

It had always been that way for him, even in mortality. He'd always gotten by on his looks alone, people assuming he was better-equipped for tasks than he was, simply because he had the host of good looks. The attentions of the ladies had come with the utmost lack of effort

It was no surprise then, having had that assumption made of him most of his human life, that he would expect the same in his immortal life. So when I had not been immediately enamored by him—or at all, in fact—he had been quite offended. Not that he had had any desire for me himself—far from it. But it had aggravated him anyway, that I did not swoon over him, despite that. He was used to being wanted.

It was different with Jessamine and Carine—they were already in love—but I wasn't attached to anyone, I had no mate, and yet, I remained obstinate.

I had assumed those old feelings had been buried long ago. That he had long since moved past it.

And he had—until the day that I had found someone whose loveliness had touched me in ways his had not.

It bothered me some, the way he saw Beau. Royal actually thought the boy was less than average looking. How could he believe that? The idea was unfathomable to me. An affect of the envy, undoubtedly.

"Oh!" Archie said suddenly, breaking me out of my daydreams, "Jess, guess what?"

I saw what he'd just seen, and stopped playing.

"What, Archie?" Jess asked.

"Patricia and Charles are dropping by next week. They'll be in the neighborhood; so they'll stop in and say 'hi'."

"Edythe, what is it?" Earnest inquired from the living chair. He noticed the tension in my back.

But I didn't answer him. I turned my glare on Archie. "Patricia and Charles are coming to _Forks_?" I hissed.

Archie rolled his eyes. "Oh, chill, Edy. It's not their first time."

My jaw locked audibly. No, it was not their first time to Forks, but it _was_ their first time here since Beau had arrived, and from recent experience, I was not the only one who found his sweet fragrance unusually desirable.

Archie cocked an eyebrow at me, sensing my anxiety in only the way a brother could. "They never hunt here. You know that."

But Jessamine's sister-of-sorts and her mate were not like us. They hunted in the conventional way, and as a result, they would not be trusted around Beau.

"When?" My tone was still acidic.

He rolled his eyes, but he told me what I wanted to know. _Monday morning. No one is going to hurt Beau._

"Right," I agreed, and then I turned away from him, "Are you ready, El?"

She was confused. "I thought we were leaving in the morning?"

I shook my head. "Change of plans. We'll be back by midnight Sunday. I guess it's up to you when you want to leave, though."

She pursed her lips. "Oh, fine then. Let me just so say goodbye to Roy first." She sprang to her feet and headed for the garage.

 _You're hopeless,_ she added.

"I suppose maybe I am," I muttered.

…

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners at all? Quit playing with your food!" I called to Eleanor, good-naturedly, for the most part.

She glanced over her shoulder at me, grinning. "Oh, hey, Edy!" The grizzly took advantage of her distraction, and lunged out with its huge paws, raking its claws across El's front. The sharp claws shredded through most of her shirt—miraculously sparing her brasserie—and squealed across her skin.

The bear snarled at the high-pitched sound.

 _Oops,_ Eleanor thought, glancing down at her ruined apparel.

Then she lifted her head and snarled back at the livid animal.

I groaned and slumped onto a nearby boulder. This could take awhile.

But it seemed she was almost finished, anyway. The bear roared again and tried to take off her head. Eleanor laughed as the blow sent the bear staggering backward. The bear bellowed, and Eleanor bellowed right back through her laughter. Then she sprang at the bear, who stood almost a head taller than her on its hind legs, and they tumbled into the bracken on the ground, snapping a mature spruce in half on their way. The bear's growls cut off with a gurgle as El sunk her teeth into its jugular.

A short while later, El skipped over to where I was sitting. Her shirt was destroyed, torn and bloodied, sticky with sap and the bear's blood and fur. Her dark curly hair wasn't in much better shape, and I reached up to unearth a couple of leaves.

"That was a strong one," she said as I combed my fingers through her tendrils, "I almost felt it when he clawed me."

"You are such a child, El," I tsked at her, but the insult was filled with loving tenderness. I pulled the elastic from my wrist and looped it around her hair.

She eyed my smooth, clean white linen shirt. "Did you get your hands on that mountain lion?"

"Of course. I just don't eat like a savage."

Eleanor laughed. "I wish they were stronger. More fun that way."

"No one said you had to fight your food."

"Yeah," she agreed, "But who else am I gonna fight? You and Archie cheat, Royal doesn't want to fight his _wife_ , and Earnest gets all worked up if Jess and I _really_ get into it. Besides, she's better at it than I am." She pouted.

"Life is hard, isn't it?"

Eleanor grinned at me and crouched low, the smile turning into a wide snarl. "C'mon, Edy. Turn it off for just a minute and fight fair."

I smirked. "It doesn't turn off, remember?"

She straightened. "Wonder how that human boy does it?" she mused, "Maybe he could give me some tips."

My good humor evaporated. "You stay away from him," I snarled, my top lip pulling back from my teeth.

"Touchy, touchy."

I sighed, and El came to sit next to me, squeezing me tight in a side hug for a minute.

"I'm sorry. I know you're going through a hard time. I really _am_ trying not to be insensitive, but, y'know, since it _is_ sort of my nature…"

She waited for me to laugh at her joke, and then made a face.

 _So serious_ all the time. _What are you thinking about now?_

"I'm thinking about him," I admitted, unable to look her in the eye, "Well, worrying, really."

"What's there to worry about?" She asked, laughing, " _You_ are _here_."

I ignored her attempt at a joke. "Have you ever thought about how fragile they all are? How many bad things there are that can actually happen to a human?"

"Not really." Her brow furrowed slightly. "But I can see what you mean, I guess… I mean, I wasn't really much of a match for that bear the first time around, was I?"

She was picturing the memory, dull and unfocused through her human eyes… She'd been out picking blackberries for her mother—just off the back roads of their farm. The bear had wandered out from its habitat, hungry and in search of food…

"Bears," I groaned to myself, "That would be just Beau's luck to run across a stray _bear_ in town."

Eleanor laughed. "Hell, Edythe, you sound like a crazy person—you know that?"

I turned my gaze on her then, pleading with her to understand. "Just _imagine_ , for one second, El, that Royal was human. And he could run into a bear… or get hit by a car… or struck by lightening… or fall down the stairs… or get sick—get a _disease_!" The words burst out of me like a torrent of gushing water. It felt good to release them. They'd been festering inside me like an infection all weekend. "Fires and earthquakes and tornadoes! Ugh! When's the last time you watched the news? Have you _seen_ all the awful things that happen to them? Burglaries and homicides—" I was sure, that if I were human, I would be hyperventilating.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Chill _out_ a second, girl! He lives in _Forks_ , remember? I mean, the worst thing that could happen to him, is he gets a little rained on…" She shrugged, and then shook my far shoulder, rattling my head. "So what?"

"I think he has some serious bad luck, El, I really do," I insisted, a little calmer now, "Look at the evidence. Of all the places in the world he could go, he ends up in a town where _vampires_ make up a significant portion of the population!"

"Yeah," El waved her hand flippantly, "But we're vegetarians. That makes up for something, doesn't it?"

"Except for the fact when I was ready to _not_ be a vegetarian…" I murmured, knotting my hands together on my lap. The denim of my jeans was soaked through with rain, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

" _Except_ that you've got some mad self-control skills," she noted.

"The van?"

"Freak accident." She shrugged.

"You should have seen it, El. It just kept coming for him, again and again—it was like he had some sort of magnetic pull." I shook my head morosely at the memory.

"But you were there. That was good luck."

"Was it? Isn't this the worst luck a human could ever have? To have a _vampire_ fall in _love_ with them?"

She contemplated this quietly for a moment, and then she was picturing Beau's face—stone white, eyes crimson red…

"No." My voice sounded choked.

"It would solve all your problems, wouldn't it?" she said. "Then you wouldn't want to kill him, you wouldn't have to worry about him anymore…"

"No," I repeated, harder. "I _won't_ ruin Beau's life. Wouldn't you feel the same—if it were Royal?"

Eleanor mulled over that for a minute. She knew how much Royal resented what he was, how much he wished he could be human again.

 _You really… love him?_

"I can't… I can't even describe it, El… It's like… He's my world, all of a sudden, my entire _life_. I don't see the _point_ in anything else if he isn't around."

 _Then… Why don't you change him?_

"I can't, I can't…" I shook my head mechanically.

"I mean, can you even _touch_ him? If you love him, wouldn't you want to… Well, be _close_ to him?"

Eleanor and Royal shared an intensely physical relationship. She had a hard time understand how someone _could_ love, without that aspect.

I sighed. "I can't think about that."

She frowned. _Wow… So what are your options then?_

Hadn't this been what I'd been thinking so hard about for the past few weeks? My options? And still, I had come up short.

"I don't know." My voice was barely a whisper, and I leant my head sideways, needing El's shoulder for support, "I'm trying to figure out a way to… to leave him, but… I just can't figure out a way to make myself stay away…"

Eleanor sighed, sympathetic, but not empathetic, to my strife. She squeezed me closer, and rested her cheek on top of my head.

I realized, with a sense of self-righteousness, that it was _right_ for me to stay… In this moment, anyway, with Patricia and Charles coming soon… He would be safer with me closer, rather than if I were gone. For the moment, I could be his unlikely protector.

The thought made me anxious; I wanted very badly to be back in Forks, to be able to fill that roll as long as possible.

Eleanor noticed the change in my mood.

 _What are you thinking about?_

I sighed. "Right now, I'm dying to run back to Forks and check on him," I admitted sheepishly, "I don't know if I'll make it to Sunday night."

"No way!" Eleanor sat upright, "No way you're going home yet. This is our weekend! We've been planning this for way too long."

"I'll try," I told her.

"Besides," she reminded me, "Archie would call if there was anything to worry about. He's nearly as attached to this kid as you are," she joked, grinning once more.

"Fine," I relented, "But I'm not staying past Sunday."

"There's no rush," she reminded me, "Archie said it's going to be sunny until Wednesday… Patricia and Charles know how to behave themselves."

"I don't care," I snapped. "With Beau's luck, he'll go wandering off into the forest at exactly the wrong moment, and—" I flinched, cutting off the words when the images in my head got too clear. "Patricia isn't known for her self-control. I'm going back Sunday."

Eleanor sighed. _Exactly like a crazy person._

…

Beau was sleeping soundlessly—for now—when I climbed through his bedroom window early Monday morning.

I could tell by the way the blankets were situated that he'd had a more restful sleep this night. He lay on his side, one arm over his face. He wore a t-shirt tonight. I could hear his breath passing in easy movements between his slightly parted lips.

It felt amazingly relieving, to be here again. Like a salve to a wound, like padding to the mind. I found that the anxiety was entirely forgotten about, now that I was here. I realized I was never truly at ease unless I was close to him. Nothing was right when I was forced to be apart from Beau.

Not that everything was _right_ , per se, when I was with him, however…

The fire raked my throat, as piercing as always, maybe even more-so. I'd been away from him for too long, I realized. I had, to some extent, annulled myself against the fire in the week prior. But now, it had returned with a vengeance.

One of Beau's hands twitched, opening and closing softly, and I noticed the shallow, nearly-healed scrapes on the palms of his hands. He'd been outside this weekend, and as he rolled, his arm falling away from his face, I noticed the vague shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. Had he been out this weekend…?

I was surprised by the jealousy that lanced through me at that thought. So what if he'd gone out this weekend? I didn't have any claim to him… And then I was saddened by the thought. No, he was not mine… But I was completely and entirely his.

I wondered how he'd come about the scrapes on his hands, and judged, according to the location, that he must have tripped. I wondered if he'd had fun on the beach outing with his friends. It comforted me to know I would be able to ask him about that, later, about how his weekend had gone. I would wonder, but not ask, about how much he'd missed me… If he'd missed me at all, and if it had compared to a thousandth of the portion of my own heartache in my absence.

As I settled into my usual place in the rocking chair, I tried to imagine Beau, in the sun at the beach, how the light would touch his hair, and warm his skin… How he would squint in the sunlight… But the picture was incomplete, because I didn't know what First Beach looked like firsthand.

A tremor of unease ran through me when I thought of the reason why I had never been to the picturesque little beach just a few minutes' run from my home. Beau had spent the day at a place I was forbidden to go, by treaty. The land of the Quileutes was off-limits for our kind, for they knew our secrets, they believed the stories the elders had taught them.

I shook the anxiety off. I had nothing to worry about. The Quileutes were just as bound by their treaty as I was. Even if he ran into one of the old storytellers there, they could reveal nothing. And why would he ask, anyway?

When the sun rose, I felt angry, remembering I would not be able to sate my curiosity for a few more days.

I sighed and ducked out his window, intent on getting to the shade of the trees before anyone could see me here. But I was surprised when, upon stepping into the fringe of trees, I found his fresh scent.

I followed it without thinking, the anxiety growing as it trailed deeper and deeper into the thick foliage. What had he been doing so far out here?

The trail stopped abruptly, in the middle of nowhere. I followed it just a few steps off the path, through a wall of ferns, where the scent was slightly more potent on that of a fallen tree trunk—which he'd touched, possibly sat on?

Why would he have come here, to sit alone, in a damp and murky forest? It made no sense, and unlike my other curiosities, it could not be answered in casual conversation. I could not ask him about this…

I would never know why he'd come to sit here, alone, and suddenly, the image I'd described for Eleanor didn't seem so far off. Beau, walking alone in the forest, easy prey to anyone, or anything, who wished to track him…

I groaned. Not _only_ did Beau attract danger, he _pursued_ it.

…

 **A/N** : I figured, being sisters, El and Edythe would share more of a physical relationship than Emmett and Edward ever did. However, Em/El's buoyant, carefree mood is the same across the board ;) Sorry for the short one this time, folks. Stay tuned for more!


	8. Port Angeles

**A/N:** Ugh, a couple things I wasn't sure about in this chapter, but I think it turned out alright. Is anybody else getting annoyed by Edythe's severe self-esteem issues? (LOL!) Why can't she see what an amazing girl she is…?! Ah, character development… Oh! Before I forget—somebody asked in a recent review (hi, there!) if I would do an alternate ending to the original Life and Death and continue on with the next books through Edythe's eyes… The answer is: _possibly…?_ I can't go as far as to give a 'yes' to the sequels, but I was already thinking about doing an AE anyway, when I'm finished with the original.

Also, I had to find quite a balance between 'appropriateness' and 'accuracy' when it came to depicting Edythe's… 'admirers'' thoughts.

Anyway—enough rambling. On to the chapter!

…

I spent the next two days watching Beau from the shadows—only furthering the creepy, vampire, fan girl dilemma.

I didn't go home often, and when I did, it was because I didn't want Earnest to be worried about me. I did not see much of Jessamine's old friends.

The forced absence from school had never been a struggle like it was to me now. But the sun seemed to give Beau pleasure, so I couldn't resent it too much. Anything that brought him joy was in my good books.

On Monday morning, I eavesdropped on a conversation that had the potential to destroy me completely—but as it turned out, it did quite the opposite.

I had to give McKayla some credit—she had not just slunk away to nurse her wounds. She was brave, and determined, and she wasn't going to give up so easily.

Beau got to school early, setting himself up on one of the picnic benches that was stationed in the sun. It seemed he was going to get as much of the sunshine as he possibly could. He sat on his rain jacket and opened his books, presumably to do some homework, but soon his eyes were wandering over the property, and his pencil was tracing obscure patterns in the margins of his paper.

McKayla arrived then, in an outfit that made me narrow my eyes in disapproval, and she was ecstatic when she caught sight of Beau.

 _This must be my lucky day!_

Quickly, she checked her hair and lipgloss in the side mirror of her car, and then quickly headed toward him.

He greeted her with enough interest to please her, and me the opposite.

She sat next to him, too close.

 _See, he likes me. He wouldn't smile at me like that if he didn't. I bet he wanted to go to the dance with me after all… Wonder what he had going on in Seattle…_

"Great day, isn't it?" she started.

"My kind of day," he agreed.

She started off with some small-talk, trying to build up her confidence, while they talked about the remainder of the weekend and the essay that we all had due on Wednesday.

 _Damn—stupid essay._

Finally, she got to the point, and my teeth were clenched so hard, I would have been able to grind granite into dust.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."

"Oh," Beau said, clearly thrown.

 _Oh? What does that mean? Is he going to say, yes, or…? Wait—I guess I didn't really ask him._

"Well, we still could go to dinner or something…" _Hint, hint._ "And I could work on it later." She gave him a hopeful smile.

"McKayla…" He started, and the strength of the fury inside me was appalling. I wanted so badly to race across the parking lot—too fast for human eyes to see—and snatch him up, to take him away and have him all to myself.

"I don't think that would be the best idea."

 _Oh._ And all of my anger abruptly dissipated.

 _Crap,_ McKayla thought, _I shouldn't have asked. I'm so stupid. Seattle_ was _just an excuse… Ugh… I'm so humiliated…_

"Why?"

 _Bet it's Edythe_ freaking _Cullen,_ she guessed with an internal eye-roll.

This thought made me smug.

"Look," Beau said, "I'm breaking all kinds of man codes telling you this, so don't rat me out, okay?"

 _What?_ "Man codes?"

"Jeremy's my friend, and if I went out with you, well, it would upset him."

 _What on earth is he talking about?_

"I never said any of this, okay? It's your word against mine."

"Jeremy?" she repeated, finally catching on. _What? But… Oh. Okay… I guess he… Huh._

"Seriously, are you blind?"

I laughed out loud. He shouldn't expect everyone to be as perceptive as he was, but really, this was beyond the scope of _obvious_.

 _Jeremy. Huh. Wow… But… Huh._ "Oh."

Beau took the opportunity to shove his book back in his bag. "I don't want to be late again. I'm already on Mason's list."

McKayla became an unreliable viewpoint from then on. She found, as she turned the idea of _Jeremy_ over in her mind, that she rather liked the kid. It was second place, not as good as Beau, but still—she had no trouble turning her thoughts to the Stanley boy instead, and for some reason, this made me angry. Did she really see Beau as so interchangeable?

There was still that lingering hint of doubt inside me—Beau hadn't outright told McKayla he didn't have feelings for her; he'd simply put the happiness of his friend over that of his own. _Could_ he have feelings for her? I supposed it was possible, though I didn't like to linger on that possibility.

When they walked out of sight, I curled up against the smooth trunk of a huge Madrone tree and watched him through others' eyes for the rest of the day. I was always glad when I could use Allen Weber's mind as a filter. He was so kind to Beau, and certainly very genuine. I wished there was a way I could thank him for his kindness. It made me feel better to know that Beau had at least one true friend.

In Trigonometry, Jeremy invited Beau to Port Angeles to catch a movie and order corsages for the dance with a few of the other boys. He didn't quite agree to the plans, so I didn't make any corresponding ones, either.

At lunch, I didn't miss the way Beau glanced again and again toward our empty table. It pleased me, just a bit, to think that maybe he _did_ miss me.

When Allen asked him again about the outing, this time he agreed, and I made my own surveillance plans in conjunction with that. But after school, the plans were cancelled when McKayla asked Jeremy to dinner instead.

I ran to Beau's home, doing a quick sweep of the woods by his house, to make sure no one dangerous had wandered too close. When I was satisfied, I climbed into a tree.

And as if Beau knew I wished so achingly to see him, as if he had pity on me, he emerged from the house with a blanket under his arm and a book in his hand. He laid the blanket out on the damp grass, and then slumped down on top of it. He flipped through the paperback for a few minutes, and I read over his shoulder. _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea._ Interesting. He flipped through the entire thing twice, and then, seeming uninterested with the book, tossed it aside and rolled onto his back.

As he closed his eyes, I found myself confused. Why would he bring a book outside to read, and then flip through the entire thing twice and give up on the whole institution? Was something else on his mind? Was he thinking about McKayla?

After not too long, Beau became very still, and his breaths grew longer and more even. After several long minutes, his lips began to tremble. Mumbling in his sleep.

This was impossible to resist. I listened harder.

Thoughts from various neighbors, none too close or paying any attention, blared into my head.

 _Two tablespoons of flour… One cup of milk…_

 _C'mon! Make the shot, make the shot…! Ugh, come_ on _!_

 _Red dress, or blue…? Or maybe I should go for something more casual…_

I leaped from the branch, landing on my toes so I didn't snap the heels of my boots off.

This was stupid and, frankly, very irresponsible. I remembered how, once, I'd judged Eleanor's careless actions, and Jessamine's lack of discipline. And now I was disregarding everything, breaking all the rules, taking what they'd done to the very extremes, myself. I used to be the responsible one.

I stepped out into the sunshine, my careful gaze on Beau, keeping an ear out to any change to the rhythm of his breath or heartbeat—which would alert me to his wakefulness. Nothing changed, and so I took a few steps forward.

I purposefully did not pay attention to what I looked like in the sun, but it was impossible not to notice the rainbows that fragmented off of mine, onto Beau's pale skin. I flinched at the sight. Could I be anymore of a freak, an outsider, a misfit? I imagined the terror he would feel, if he were to open his eyes at this moment…

I took a couple of careful steps backward, ready to retreat, but he murmured something once more, and I stopped to listen.

"Mmm… Mmm." Just inaudible mumbling, but I could bet on the fact that the intelligible wasn't far off. I'd wait a few minutes, then.

I crouched down and carefully, silently, stole his book, leaning my body away and stretching my arm out as I did so, careful to stay as far away as I could. I started breathing again when I was a few yards away, noticing the way the warmth of the sun changed his fragrance. It made him smell unbearably sweeter, still… My throat burned with bloodlust, the pain fresh and ferocious, because I'd been away from him for too long again.

I focused on controlling the desire for a moment, and then—forcing myself to breathe through my nose, so I could desensitize myself to his scent once more—I let his book fall open in my hands. The binding was worn and well-read, but each of its pages were pristine. Not one coffee stain, or bent corner.

I had never read Verne's work, and I started in on the first chapter, but I only got through the first two sentences, because Beau spoke once more.

"Hmm… Edythe…"

Joy warred with self-loathing at the sound of my name on his lips. A wistful, low murmur; not the shout of horror that would have undoubtedly left his lips if he could see me now. Still, he was dreaming of me.

He frowned, his eyebrows knotting together. "Ridiculous…"

I felt my own eyebrows pull toward each other, and the word pierced through me offendingly deep. He thought I was ridiculous? Or was it something else?

Wounded and hurt, because, yes, I _was_ ridiculous—a ridiculous excuse for a creature; it was a ridiculous notion to think that he could have feelings for me… Of course not—I retreated back into the shadows of the trees.

I stayed there to watch him, feeling vulnerable and helpless as the sun sank lower in the sky, and the dark shadows made their way toward him, gradually enveloping him until they'd swallowed him whole. When the light was entirely gone, he looked too pale—ghostly white, his hair a shock of darkness against his complexion.

It was a frightening thing to watch—like Archie's visions coming to fruition right in front of me. Beau's steady, strong heartbeat was my only reassurance that kept this moment from feeling like a night terror.

I was relieved when Chief Swan arrived home, and the sound of his tires on the driveway woke Beau. He started awake, casting around disorientedly.

"Charlie?" His voice was low, and I could hear the trepidation in it.

But Charlie was at the front of the house, getting out of his car and slamming the door.

For one brief moment, his eyes touched the shadows where I stood, lingering for just half a second, and then they flickered away.

Then he jumped up, gathered up the quilt and his book, and headed inside, glancing toward the trees one last time before closing the back door behind him.

I settled myself into a tree closer to the east side of the house, where their small kitchen was located, and eavesdropped on their evening conversation. Beau discussed his plans to go into Port Angeles the following evening, and I adjusted my own plans in accordance. Though I knew Jessamine had asked Patricia and Charles not to hunt in the vicinity of our home, I would follow him to Port Angeles and keep an eye out for him, just in case. After all, we weren't the only ones of our kind out there—and besides, there were all those other mortal dangers I now so greatly feared.

…

Beau slept restlessly this night.

He tossed and turned agitatedly, the expressions on his face vacillating between sadness and anxiety. I wondered what troubled him… And then decided that I didn't want to know.

When he spoke, he mostly complained about Forks. Once, he sighed the words, 'Come back', and his fingers unfolded, hand open in a wordless plea. For a single moment, I allowed myself to wonder if he was dreaming of me, then.

Tuesday was uneventful—Beau seemed in a worse mood than the day before, and I wondered if he would cancel his plans with his friends. But he never did, probably due to his tendency to put his companions' pleasure above his own.

Today he wore a thin sweater in the shade of viridian, and it made his eyes look impossibly bluer. I liked that.

When school ended, the plan was for Jeremy to pick the other guys up so that they all didn't have to drive separate vehicles up to Port Angeles. The grouping had originally been larger than the three that were still in on the plan, and I thought I'd seen some relief in Beau's face when he'd learned that Logan Mallory was no longer going.

I went home to retrieve my car. Upon arrival, however, I found that Patricia and Charles were still there, and I knew I owed them some respect. After all, I'd hardly been around these past two days, and I didn't want them thinking I was rude.

Besides, I would never be able to follow behind the boys at the speed limit. It would drive me crazy.

Jessamine's friends eyed me curiously from the front door. Jessamine was bidding them goodbye.

 _What a strange creature,_ the tall, white-blond Charles thought, _And she was so normal and pleasant the last time we met._

Immediately, I felt chastened. I hadn't wanted to give off a bad impression, but apparently I had.

Patricia's thoughts were strangely in sync with her mate's, which was usually the case for them.

 _It must be the animals,_ she surmised, _The lack of human blood drives them mad eventually._ Her hair was just as fine as his, and fell in long curtains to her hips. They were very similar—aside from Patricia's petite stature—in both look and thought, and I had always thought them a well-matched pair.

"If you see Miguel again," Jessamine was saying, a little wary, "tell him I wish him well."

Miguel was the vampire who had created both Jessamine and Patricia—Jess in the latter half of the nineteenth century, during the Civil War, and Patricia later, in the nineteen-forties. He'd looked Jessamine up, once, when we were living in Calgary. It had been a short stay, and we'd had to move almost immediately. Jessamine had asked Miguel, politely, to keep his distance in the future.

Now, Archie wrapped a protective arm around Jess's waist, and I watched his eyes narrow at the mention of Jessamine's dictatorial creator.

"I don't imagine that will happen anytime soon," Patricia said, giggling softly, "But if it should, I certainly will."

They were embracing then, preparing to depart. I got to my feet and curtsied very casually.

"Patricia. Charles. It was lovely to see you again."

"Nice to see you again, too, Edythe," Charles said softly, though I could hear the doubt in his thoughts.

Patricia just smiled tightly my way.

I decided to make my own departure.

 _Crazy woman,_ Eleanor threw after me as I headed for the door.

 _Simpleton,_ Royal thought in aggravation.

 _Poor thing,_ Earnest mused sympathetically.

And Archie, disapprovingly, _They're heading straight east, toward Seattle. Nowhere near Port Angeles. Chill, Edy._ He showed me his visions as proof.

I pretended I'd missed that. My excuses were flimsy enough as they were.

…

The clouds returned with ambition, hastening the sunset.

I was thankful for it. There was only so much waiting outside of town that I could do.

I checked in routinely with the boys, mostly grappling for Allen's mind, though he was quiet—Jeremy had the louder of the thoughts, and so he'd been easier to locate in the beginning. But I much preferred Allen's frame of mind.

 _"Maybe I should go with the red roses,"_ Jeremy was saying, doubting his decision of white-on-white, thinking it might be too plain for McKayla.

 _"I don't mind going back,"_ Allen returned, _"You don't think Beau will wonder where we are though?"_

What was this? Beau wasn't with them? It was true, I had allowed my attention to lapse when I'd grown bored with Jeremy's indecision over the flowers the first time around, but it wasn't until now that I noticed his absence. Immediate anxiety gripped me, and I glared toward the sun, still too high in the sky to get out of my car.

I stared through Jeremy's eyes first, and then Allen's. They were standing in front of a row of shops, and Beau was nowhere in sight.

 _Who gives a crap about Beau?_ Jeremy thought. _"He's fine,"_ he said in answer to Allen's question, _"We'll meet him at the movie theatre. I'll be quick. Besides, I think he wanted to be alone."_ But his thoughts gave no allusion to where Beau might have gone.

 _"Let's hurry, then,"_ Allen said. _I hope the guy doesn't think we just ditched him. He was cool, earlier in the car… But he's seemed kind of down all day. I wonder if it's because of Edythe Cullen? I'll bet that was why he was asking about her family…_

I reprimanded myself for not paying more attention. What, in its entirety, had I missed? Beau was wandering off by himself, _and_ he'd been asking about me? But Allen and Jeremy were talking about the popular new video game now, and I couldn't glean anything more from him.

I turned my eyes back to the sky, appraising the shadows. The sun would be behind the clouds soon enough, and I would be safely concealed if I stayed on the west side of the road, close to the buildings…

The anxiety swarmed my insides as I drove through the thin traffic and into the small village. This wasn't something I'd apprehended, Beau wandering off on his lonesome, and I had no idea how to find him. I _should_ have known this would happen.

Port Angeles was familiar to me, and the first place I could think of Beau wanting to run an errand at, would be the one bookstore in town, so I drove straight there. No luck. The only person in the store was a character of a man standing behind the counter. Too new age for any practical person to go inside, and I doubted Beau had even stepped foot past the entry.

I glanced toward a large patch of shade I could park in, contemplating. The sunlight wasn't quite gone yet, and it wouldn't be smart for me to risk exposure to the sunlight, but I had no other way to find him!

I parked, and climbed out, making sure I stayed in the deepest part of the shadow as I walked toward the little bookshop. I noted the faint trace of Beau's scent in the air, but it stopped on the sidewalk. I was right. He _hadn't_ gone inside.

I followed his scent as far as the shade would allow, coming to a stand-still when I hit the edge. The frustration was a physical sensation inside me. I felt so trapped!

I could only guess that he'd continued south, even though there wasn't much over that way. Was he lost?

I got back in the car, driving slowly, searching the sidewalks for his figure. I got out a couple more times, where patches of shade allowed, but the direction of his fragrance confused me. Where was he trying to get to?

I drove back and forth between the bookstore and the theatre a couple of times, hoping I'd see him along the way, but to no avail. Jeremy and Allen were already there, waiting on a couple of benches just inside.

I resorted to searching the minds of strangers, hoping someone might have seen him in passing.

I grew more and more concerned the more time that passed. I hadn't taken into consideration how difficult it would be to find him once he was off the grid like this.

The clouds were massing together, preparing to engulf the sun. It wouldn't be long until I could get out and search for him on foot, and once I was able to do so, I would find him quickly.

But until then, I was helpless.

Another mind, and another. Such trivial thoughts.

 _...think the baby has another ear infection..._

 _Was it six-four-oh or six-oh-four...?_

 _Late again. I ought to tell him...  
There he is! Got you now, pig._

There he was! At last, someone had noticed him. Relief flooded through me.

I took pause, reading more closely into the woman's thoughts, and the relief froze into icy-cold dread.

This particular individual's mind was unfamiliar, and yet, not completely strange. I had once hunted minds like these.

A wordless shriek of rage ripped itself from my throat, and my foot stomped down on the gas pedal, propelling me forward. But where was I _going_?

I knew the general location of the woman's thoughts, but not any specifics. Frantically, I searched for some marker—a street sign, a store front, _something_ —but Beau was deep in shadow, up against a chain-link fence, and the only thing the woman, and the men around her, was registering, was the fear in his clear blue eyes.

 _Pity,_ she thought, _to have to do away with him. Such a good-looking boy… Such pretty eyes._

A volley of growls erupted from my throat, shaking the frame of the Volvo as I spurred forward.

The fence behind him… Somewhere industrial, then, away from the more brightly lit and populated shopping district. How had he ended up there?

The tires of my car squealed as I rounded the corner, swerving around an oncoming car, heading in what I hoped was the right direction.

 _"I-I'm… S-sorry. I don't know what you're t-talking about."_

 _"Aren't you gonna call for backup,_ Officer?"

I watched through her eyes as Beau glanced over his shoulder, confused. The only choice in her mind, and in the minds of the remaining gang members around her, was that this couldn't get back to anyone. Not only the drug use Beau had apparently caught them in the middle of, but a multitude of other crimes and judicious infractions this could easily lead to proof of. But she had it all wrong! Where was her evidence?! What had her thinking Beau was a _police officer_?! It made no sense.

 _"I think you've got the wrong guy,"_ Beau said.

 _"Sure we do,"_ the woman said. _"And you didn't see anything back there, either, did you?"_

 _"See anything?"_ Beau's voice broke. _"No. No, I didn't see anything."_

Beau's heel caught on the edge of something, and he warbled backwards, throwing up his arms to stabilize himself, and the tall man reacted immediately, thinking Beau had a weapon. He pulled his handgun out of the back of his jeans and pointed it at Beau's forehead.

"NO!" Another shrieking snarl escaped me. The man wasn't prepared to shoot just yet, but he would if he needed to.

One of the younger men glanced down the street, nervous—he didn't want the 'backup' coming along and catching them—and gave me what I was looking for. I recognized the cross street he stared toward.

 _"Hey, hey,"_ Beau said, lifting his hands, palms forward, fear trembling in his voice.

I barreled through a red light, slipping through a space just wide enough between two cars in the moving traffic. Horns blared behind me.

My phone vibrated in my jacket pocket. I ignored it.

 _"You think I'm stupid?"_ the woman asked snidely. _"You think your plainclothes getup fools me? I saw you with your cop partner, Vice."_ She was remembering a scene from a few months earlier, in the airport. Beau had knocked his bag into one of her friends, and of course Charlie had been there in uniform. She'd put two and two together and had gotten five.

Another snarl slid through my teeth.

 _"What? No, that was my dad!"_

 _I bet he uses that excuse all the time, the undercover bastard. Young-looking enough to get away with it, too._ She laughed. _"You're just a baby pig?"_

 _"Sure, okay. So that's cleared up. I'll get out of your way now…"_ He started sliding along the fence sideways.

 _"Stop."_ This was the man with the gun. His thoughts were resolved. He couldn't let Beau go, not after what he'd seen. He would recognize all of them, the man feared, he'd rat them out.

 _"What are you doing?"_ This was a different man, a short guy, the guy who'd glanced toward the street. He was pretty fresh on scene, and he didn't want to go through with this if they didn't have to.

 _"I don't believe him."_

 _Believe him! He has nothing to hide!_ I begged silently, the snarls still issuing from between my teeth.

I was just two blocks away now. The man could hear the revving of my engine, but he paid it no mind, focused on his intended actions. I could see that he enjoyed the fear in Beau's eyes, he was _enjoying_ the chase, the hunt.

I would see how he enjoyed the hunt when he was the prey. I would see what he thought of _my_ style of hunting.

In another part of my mind, I was already leafing through the catalogue of cruelties I'd born witness to in my vigilante days, searching for the most excruciating of them. He would suffer for this. They would all suffer.

" _How's that pirate song go? Dead men tell no tales."_

" _What?"_ Beau croaked. _"No, look, that's—that's not necessary. I'm not telling any tales. There's nothing to tell."_

" _That's right,"_ the woman agreed, resolved as well. She turned her eyes on the man with the gun and gave him the assent. I decided that she would be the one to suffer the most. She would beg for death before I gave her that gift.

" _My wallet's right here in my pocket,"_ Beau begged off, _"There's not much in it, but you're welcome to it…"_ He reached back for his pocket— _no!_ —and the man lifted the gun an inch. Beau put his hands in the air again.

" _We need to keep this quiet,"_ the younger guy warned, resigning to the fact now, that they would need to kill the boy who had seen too much.

He would tell no one! _No one!_

I was around the corner now.

The guy picked up a piece of pipe from the gutter. _"Put the gun away."_

But the guy hesitated, guessing that Beau would run as soon as he lowered the weapon. He kept it raised while the other guy started toward him, his own weapon raised.

I wheeled sharply around the corner, my headlights washing over the group of them, rendering most of them blind for a second.

I considered running down the man with the pipe, but decided it was too easy a death for him.

I didn't stop until the passenger door was closest to Beau. I threw that open, and he was already running toward me.

"Get in," I hissed.

 _What the hell?_

 _Knew this was a bad idea! He's not alone!_

 _Should I run…?_

… _Think I'm gonna throw up…_

Beau dove into the car, yanking the door shut behind him.

"Drive, Edythe, get out of here! He's got a gun!" he shouted.

"Keep your head _down_ ," I ordered, not hearing his words. I opened the driver's side door, prepared to get out and… What? What would I do? Would I murder these men and this woman right in front of him? Would I cart them off and leave Beau here alone?

And then his very warm, very soft hand clamped down around my forearm. I could feel his soft warmth even through my jacket. I froze. His strength was not enough to keep me here—ironically, it was his fragility that froze me to the spot.

"What are you _doing_?" he cried, "Drive!"

I turned my eyes back on him, taking in first his hand, gripped around my arm, and then up to his frantic eyes, and finally, past him to glare out the windshield at the gang members who still stood frozen.

My jaw was clenched, and I spoke tightly through my teeth. "Give me just a minute here, Beau."

I couldn't break free of his grasp. I was too angry, too out of control to be able to keep myself gentle enough. I didn't trust my motions in this moment, and so I waited for him to release me.

"If you go out there, I'm going with you," he threatened lowly, "I'm not letting you get shot."

I would have laughed at the notion if there'd been a trace of humor in my body in that moment. But I could see that he was serious, that he wasn't going to let me go.

I contemplated for just a moment. No, I could not let Beau out of my sight. And I could not kill these horrible people in front of him. I would not traumatize him that way. The solution was for me to get him to safety, and then I could come back and get my revenge.

I shut my door and peeled out in reverse.

I spun the car in a tight semi-circle as we sped backward toward the opening of the alley I'd come down. I took him away from his pursuers so quickly, they could only stare after us with uncomprehending expressions. I took us around the corner, back out onto the street, and then thrust the gear shift into drive.

"Put your seat belt on," I demanded as we raced forward. My voice was hard and sharp, like the edge of a blade—murderous and full of fury and bloodlust—not for the fragile, gentle boy in the seat beside me, but for the people who had almost taken his life.

Finally, he let go of my arm and did as I asked.

I surged left across an intersection, and then ran several stop signs without stopping.

As I drove Beau to safety, I went over the various torture techniques I could use again. Where would I leave him, so that I could come back and serve Beau's justice honor? These people could _not_ be allowed to live after what they were prepared to do to him…

"Are you okay?" Beau's voice was quiet and hoarse.

 _He_ wanted to know if _I_ was okay?

"No." No, I realized. I was so completely _not_ okay.

I took him to the same unused driveway where I'd spent the afternoon posing as the poorest excuse ever for, a surveillance system.

"Are you hurt at all, Beau?" This was the most important thing, after all, of the utmost first priority.

"No," he croaked, and then cleared his throat. "Are you?"

I turned my eyes on him again. Once more, he was asking if _I_ was okay. After all he'd been through, he was concerned for _my_ well-being?! "Of course I'm not hurt."

"Good. Um… Can I ask why you're so mad? Did I do something?"

I sighed in exasperation. "Don't be stupid, Beau."

"Sorry," he apologized.

What on _earth_ was he apologizing for?! I stared at him in struck disbelief for a moment, and then shook my head. "Do you think you would be all right if I left you here in the car for just a few—"

He gripped my hand, interrupting me, and I froze again. His palm lay against the back of my hand, where it rested on the gearshift, and it was indescribably soft and warm. Again, I did not trust myself not to hurt him when I moved. This time, he did not flinch back from the chill of my skin, and I wondered about that.

"You're not going anywhere without me." His voice was low and fierce and completely serious.

I glared at him. Like he could stop me. Like he could _hold_ me back, or _run_ after me.

I waited for him to release me.

But the fact was that I didn't _want_ to leave him, I didn't _want_ to go against his wishes. Not now that I'd gotten him to safety, not now that I could feel his skin on mine, _see_ the intensity of the emotions in his eyes. Suddenly, it seemed of much greater priority to make sure that _he_ was okay. I didn't know how he was going to react to this entire situation. He could go into shock at any moment, and he needed someone with him, in case that happened. I could deal with the vile excuses for humans later.

"Fine. Give me a moment," I requested, and I shut my eyes, taking five deep breaths in through my nose—feeling the fiery burn of thirst in my throat as I did so—and slowly, the tension began to fade. I could focus on Beau _now_ ; that was all that mattered. Everything else was second place in comparison to this.

Once I was calm, I opened my eyes, and looked down at his hand, still on mine. In the time he'd left it there, I'd felt the temperature of his skin cool several degrees.

"Do you… want me to let go?" he asked, seeing the direction of my gaze.

Did I? No, I supposed I didn't _want_ him to let go of my hand… It felt surprisingly pleasurable, and as I'd sat there, it had helped me to relax. "I think that might be for the best."

"You're not going anywhere?"

"I suppose not, if you're that opposed."

And then he pulled his hand away. He examined my face for a moment. "Better?"

I took another deep breath. "Not really."

"What is it, Edythe? What's wrong?"

I almost smiled, _almost_ found humor in the situation. "This may come as a surprise to you, Beau, but I have a little bit of a temper. Sometimes it's hard for me to forgive easily when someone… offends me." I supposed those words would have to do, for now. Indeed, the men and woman of that gang had _offended_ me deeply.

"Did I—"

I knew where he was going with that, he was going to attempt to pin the blame on himself, and so I interrupted him. "Stop, Beau. I'm not talking about you." I gazed up at him with eyes wide. "Do you realize that they were serious? That they were actually going to _kill_ you?"

"Yeah, I kinda figured they were going to try."

"It's completely ridiculous!" I could feel myself losing composure again, the fury and bafflement rising up in me again. "Who gets murdered in _Port Angeles_? What _is_ it with you, Beau? Why does everything deadly come looking for _you_?"

He blinked, his expression blank. "I… I have no answer for that."

Ah. And, finally, I felt some humor rise up in me. His baffled, puppy-dog-like confusion always seemed to calm me, to bring me good humor.

I tilted my head and pursed my lips, sighing through my nose. "So I'm not allowed to go teach those thugs a lesson in manners?"

"Um, no. Please?"

I exhaled, long and slow, put out. The only thing I wanted more than to commit a highly-justifiable murder in this moment, was this boy. And, though this was impossible in every way, just the _idea_ of it being in the realm of achievable, made the idea of going on a killing spree tonight unmanageable. Because Beau deserved better than a killer. I had spent so many decades trying to be the opposite of that very title. All of my effort would _never_ make me worthy of the attentions of this boy sitting beside me now, but I felt that if I slipped even one more time, allowed this night of indulgent torture to take place, that possibility would be even further from attainable. I was trying to be good for him. An impossible goal, but I still had to attempt it. "How disagreeable."

I warred with myself for a long, silent moment—trying, wishing, to be what I couldn't be.

I opened my eyes and found the time on the clock. The boys would miss their movie, and it was time to get Beau back to his friends—away from the abomination that I was.

"Your friends must be worried about you."

He didn't answer, but I started the engine again anyway. I turned us around and headed back toward the lights of the town. Soon, we were under the streetlights, back in the brightness, and the parallel of light and darkness—he deserved to be there, and I had to stay in the shadows—made me think of the difference between us again. I would never be good enough for him. I would never be as pure and sweet and unstained as Beau Swan always would be.

I drove straight to the theatre and parallel parked along the curb. Jeremy and Allen had waited until the movie had started, and they were just leaving, walking away from us.

"How did you know where…?" he started to ask, but then cut himself off, shaking his head, letting it go. I was glad, in that moment, for his flexibility.

"Stop them before I have to track them down, too. I won't be able to restrain myself if I run into your other friends again."

I thought I saw him shudder slightly, but then he peeled off his seatbelt and hopped out of the car, keeping one hand on the frame as he called after them: "Jer! Allen!"

They both turned, and Beau waved at them in a wide arc with his free arm.

 _There he is!_

 _Late much?_ Jeremy thought sullenly, but underneath his impatience, he, too, was relieved that Beau hadn't been lost or hurt.

They rushed back toward us. Jeremy recognized the car, and its owner, right away.

 _Holy hell. No way!_

Allen leaned forward, peering through my darkly tinted windshield until he could make out my face.

 _Edythe Cullen? What? Did he sneak off just to meet up with her? But then, why would he have looked so embarrassed when he asked me about her earlier…?_ I was rewarded with a brief flash of Beau's adorable mortification when he had asked Allen why we were away from school so much. _Nah. He must have run into her on his errand._

Errand. Right.

"What happened to you?" Jeremy demanded. _And how the hell… This… Edythe? My man's been holding out on me!_ "We thought you took off." _Until now. Now I know exactly why he went off on his own. Ho-lee hell._

"No, I just got lost. And then I ran into Edythe." His tone was remarkably casual, stunningly blasé. Like that was truly all that had occurred.

At the sound of my name, I leaned forward in my seat so they'd be able to see me more clearly, and smiled, just playing my part.

Both Jeremy and Allen's minds were blank, their heartbeats aflutter—again: scary? Or attractive?

Well, according to their thoughts, their reactions were screaming _attraction_.

I glanced swiftly at Beau, mulling the possibility over again.

"Uh, hi… Edythe," Allen finally said, gaining control of himself.

Becoming more and more confident by the idea that Beau found me attractive, I felt good-natured enough to wave teasingly at him with two fingers.

He gulped.

"Uh, hey," Jeremy said, glancing in my direction but not quite _at_ me.

 _Holy_ crap _she's hot. Like… freakily gorgeous._

Then he turned his gaze fixedly on Beau. "So… the movie's already started, I think."

"Sorry about that," Beau apologized.

Jeremy glanced down at his wrist-watch. "It's probably still just running previews. Did you…" He glanced at Beau's hand, still clutching the frame of my car, "…still want to come?"

Beau hesitated, glancing at me.

Allen's manners kicked in. "Would you like to come… Edythe?" _Wow. I'm asking Edythe to a movie… Not in that way, but still. Wow._

I opened my door and stepped out of the car, shaking my hair out of my face. I leaned against the frame, to assure Beau I wasn't going anywhere—I'd seen the way he was white-knuckling my car, as if he could hold it back with his sheer mortal strength. Ha. I grinned at Allen, noting the way Jeremy's jaw, quite literally, unhinged.

"I've already seen this one," I lied, "but thank you, Allen."

Allen blinked, expressionless and mind boggled. Now, why couldn't I do that to Beau?

I cast a look at Beau, who had his eyes on his friends, a strange expression on his face. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to see this movie now?"

 _Please say one, please say one._

I found myself inappropriately enamored with the idea of Beau taking me to dinner… Or rather, me taking _Beau_ to dinner, but conventions were conventions, after all.

"Er, not that much," he muttered.

I grinned at Jeremy now. "Will it ruin your night if I make Beau take me to dinner?" I asked him.

He needed sugar in his bloodstream—though his blood was already sweet enough without it, I noted wryly. The horror of the situation was bound to truly dawn on him at any time, and it would be better if he had something in his stomach when that happened. After all, he was prone to syncopal episodes, as I'd formerly experienced.

These boys wouldn't be in any danger if they went straight home. Danger didn't seem to stalk _their_ every step.

And besides, it would please me very much to have Beau's undivided attention—if he wanted to give it to me, that was.

Jeremy shook his head at me, now.

"Thanks." I smiled again. "I'll give Beau a ride home."

I slid back into my seat.

"Get in the car, Beau."

Allen nor Jeremy moved. They only stared at their friend, their minds a conglomeration of confused shock.

Beau shrugged and then situated himself back in the passenger seat.

"The _hell_?" Jeremy breathed as Beau slammed the door behind him.

 _Okay, what. The actual. Hell. Buddy has some_ serious _'splaining to do. How on earth did he score a date with_ Edythe Cullen _?! How long has this been going on? Is that why he's been so weird lately…?_

I pulled away from the curb and headed toward a small bistro I'd seen on my search. It looked intimate and quiet, exactly what I was looking for.

"Did you really want dinner?" he asked me after a moment.

I glanced at him, confused. Had he noticed I didn't eat? What kind of question was that?

"I thought you might," I finally told him.

"I'm good."

Dejection lanced through me. "If you'd rather go home…"

"No, no." The words came out a little too quickly, I thought, which soothed some of the rejection. "I can do dinner. I just mean it doesn't have to be that. Whatever you'd like."

That brought a smile to my face as I pulled into a spot in front of _Bella Italia._

We headed toward the entrance, and Beau stumbled a little in his rush to hold the door for me. The gesture was sweet, and it did strange things to my ghost of a stomach. I smiled at him as I walked past.

I was delighted to find that the restaurant was just as quiet as I'd hoped it would be. I kept careful inventory of what vitals I could of Beau's as we stepped up to the hostess' station. I wanted to run my hand over his forehead to check his temperature—he seemed sort of lost and confused, but then, wasn't that just sort of… Beau?

 _Hot damn,_ the host's thoughts intruded my mind. _Hot,_ hot _damn._

It seemed to be my night to garner the admirers. But I wondered if that was just because I wished Beau would see me in that way? We were physically attractive to our prey—I had never thought much of it before. After all, it was a hunting instinct. Usually, the fear kicked in quickly afterward.

But right now, the host was grinning and taking a deep, over-exaggerated bow.

"What can I do for you?"

"A table for two, please," I said primly.

He glanced at Beau quickly, giving him a short once over.

 _No…_ He thought doubtfully. _That_ can't _be her date, can it? Maybe he's her cousin… or her brother or something. No way could he pick up a girl like_ that.

"Of course, er, _mademoiselle_." He picked up two menus and gestured for us to follow. _Follow me… Wish I could follow_ you… _I'd like to check out dat_ —I tuned him out.

He led us around the partition and over to a four-top in the middle of the most crowded part of the dining room.

 _No need to do him any favors,_ he thought as he stepped back, waiting for us to take our seats, _Wonder if I can slip her my number, somehow…?_

I pulled a bill from the clip in my pocket. People were easily swayed where money was involved.

Beau would be very curious tonight, I could see all of the questions in his eyes, and a seat as public as this was not appropriate for this kind of conversation.

"Perhaps something more private?" I said to the host in my gently-influential voice, reaching over to slip it between his fingers.

He glanced at the money in surprise, and then his fingers folded around the tip, and he gave me a little smirk.

"Of course." He took us to another part of the dining room, where every booth was empty. "How is this?"

"Perfect," I said. No one would be able to see us here, or Beau's reactions to whatever I would tell him. What _did_ he want to know? And would I be able to give him the answers? Then, feeling slightly peeved by his rude thoughts toward Beau, I curled back my lips in a smile that wasn't quite a smile, and showed him all of my teeth.

 _Whoa_. _This babe can't be real. She's gorgeous._ He wandered away a moment later, listing slightly to the side. As he walked away, he glanced down at the tip I'd given him. _Fifty dollars for a better table? Rich, too. That makes sense—can't get hair as perfect as that in a barber shop. And those jeans…_ I turned my attentions away from his thoughts as he began to muse over what was inside my jeans. Cad.

I took a seat close to the edge so that Beau would be forced to sit facing me with the length of the table between us. I didn't want him getting too close, lest his scent overwhelm me.

Beau just stood there for a second, and then he sat, too.

On the other side of the wall, the host, still a little dazed, tripped over his feet, stumbling forward a couple steps before being able to get his bearings.

I found myself mulling over the host's apparent lack of fear. I remembered Eleanor's teasing from the other week, in the cafeteria… _Hate to break it to ya, little sis, but you're just not as intimidating as you think you are._

Was it true? Was I losing my predatory edge?

"That wasn't very nice."

I looked up, startled out of my reverie by Beau's disapproving tone.

"What do you mean?"

"Whatever that thing you do is—with the dimples and the hypnotizing or whatever. That guy could hurt himself trying to get back to the door."

The dimples, I was aware of. But _hypnosis?_

I felt one corner of my lips pull up. "I do a _thing_?"

"Like you don't know the effect you have on people." His words were heavily skeptical. Hm… Sarcasm was surprisingly attractive on him, as well.

"I suppose I can think of a few effects…" My thoughts turned sour for a moment, picturing the various instances of fear and horror I'd elicited in people in my past. "But no one's ever accused me of hypnotism by dimples before."

"Do you think other people get their way so easily?" His tone was still doubtful.

I tilted my head to the side, comparing the host's reaction to Beau's various lapses in attention when in my presence. I just had to sate my curiosity. It had been bothering me for so long. "Does it work on you—this _thing_ you think I do?" I voiced my curiosity impulsively, the words escaping too quickly to be able to pull them back.

But before I could regret it too quickly, he ducked his head shyly and said, "Every time." Delicious color rose underneath his skin, and if I could have, I would have flushed with pleasure.

I hypnotized Beau with my dimples?

My frozen heart swelled with a hopeful pleasure so great, I thought I'd burst. So did that mean he _didn't_ have feelings for McKayla?

And then we were interrupted by our waiter.

"Hello," he said after staring at me for just a moment too long.

 _Oh my god. Mitch didn't even do her justice. She's… I mean, she's incredible!_

"My name is Sal, and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you to drink?"

I had my eyes fixed on Beau, watching the color rise up under his skin and focusing not on how it made the burn in my throat flare, but rather how it made his eyes clearer, and brightened his fair complexion.

"Beau?" I prompted when he didn't reply to the waiter's request.

"Um, a coke?"

I noticed it now, too—it was difficult not to, with his vulgar thoughts so loud—how he didn't look at Beau, and I cast him a conspiratorial smile, and then turned to the waiter.

"Two Cokes." Normal, human thirst was one of the first signs of shock. I would make sure to get plenty of sugar into his system. And then, just to test the theory, I smiled at the waiter widely, making sure the dimples were on show.

 _Wha…? Uh… Huh?_

The waiter lost his balance, warbling a bit.

 _Crap. What was their order again…?_

Oh my. The reaction was hilarious, and I pressed my lips together to suppress my laughter. I didn't want to embarrass him, the poor child.

"And a menu?" I prompted when he didn't move. The host had forgotten to leave ours with us in his… Hypnotized… State.

 _Get it together, man._ "Yes, of course. I'll be right back with that."

"You've seriously never noticed before?" Beau asked when he was gone.

"It's been awhile since I cared what anyone thought about me," I admitted. "And," I added, "I don't usually smile so much."

Hmm… And then I stared at the reason why I was smiling so much these days with tenderness…

"Probably safer that way." He was playing with the salt shaker. "For everyone."

"Everyone but you," I amended. "Shall we talk about what happened tonight?"

"Huh?"

"Your near-death experience? Or had you forgotten?"

"Oh." It sounded like he had.

I frowned, wondering if this was part of the shock. "How do you feel?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you cold, dizzy, sick…?" I listed off the typical symptoms of acute shock.

"Should I?" he asked.

I laughed, disoriented by his bravado, his resilience. He certainly didn't _look_ like he was going into shock. He looked healthy… Luminous, even. "I'm wondering if you're going to go into shock. I've seen it happen with less provocation."

"Oh," he said, "No, I think I'm fine, thanks."

I watched him for a minute, trying to decide whether he was just trying to act tough, or if he really was fine. But Beau was never one to obsess much over his masculinity. "Just the same, I'll feel better once you have some food in you."

Just then, the waiter rounded the corner with the Cokes and a basket of bread sticks. He placed them on the table, and then handed me the menu that had been tucked under his arm. I didn't look at the waiter as I retrieved the menu, and then immediately slid it across the table to Beau.

The waiter cleared his throat. "There are a few specials. Um, we have a mushroom ravioli, and—"

"Sounds great," Beau interjected, "I'll have that." He spoke a little louder than was necessary, leaning to the side a little because, once more, the waiter wasn't even looking at him. I ducked my head to hide my smile at his obviousness.

"And for you…?"

"That's all we need. Thank you," I dismissed him.

When I looked at Beau, he was making a face. Hm. So he _had_ noticed I never ate. He was far too perceptive… And I was far too irresponsible with my usual facades.

"Drink," I ordered him when the waiter was gone.

He took a sip without question, and then drank more deeply. He chugged the entire glass, and when he set it down, I slid the second glass across the table to him. I frowned to myself. Thirst? Or shock?

"No, I'm fine," he protested.

" _I'm_ not going to drink it," I assured him. The jig was clearly up anyway. Might as well going along with it.

"Right." He reached for the glass and drained its entire contents as well.

"Thanks," he said when he was done. Then he shuddered once.

"You're cold?" Cold drink? Or shock?

"It's just the Coke," he insisted, and he shivered again, his lips trembling in a way that made me think his teeth were about to chatter.

The thin sweater he wore didn't look like enough material to keep him warm. It hugged his chest snugly. I was reminded again just how vulnerable he was. "Don't you have a jacket?"

"Yeah," he answered immediately, and patted the seat next to him. "Oh—I left it in Jeremy's car." He shrugged, and then shuddered once more.

I began to unwind the scarf I'd stolen from Archie this morning. I wished the gesture could have been more helpful—it wouldn't offer him any warmth from my body; I had none to offer—but I hoped the extra half-layer would help.

When I looked up, his skin was flushed, and he looked distracted. What was he thinking?

"Here." I tossed the scarf at him.

But he pushed it back immediately. "Really, I'm fine."

I cocked my head and appraised him for a moment. "The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, Beau," I told him, "It's not a lady's scarf, if that's what's bothering you." Again, I didn't know where he stood on the whole 'Esteemed Value of His Own Masculinity' thing. "I stole it from Archie."

"I don't need it."

Stubborn thing, wasn't he?

"Fine, Royal has a jacket in the trunk, I'll be right—" I started to get up, but I saw Beau lurch forward, reaching out as if to grab me, and I froze, knowing what he wanted, but not willing to let his skin come into contact with mine, no matter how much pleasure it brought me. He was cold enough.

"Don't go," he murmured, eyes blazing. "I'll wear the scarf. See?"

He picked it up and wrapped it around his neck haphazardly.

"Did I do it right?" he asked when he was finished.

"It suits you." The truth. But no, he hadn't done it right. But what else could I expect from charming, bumbling Beau? I laughed fondly. He was too adorable.

"Do you steal a lot of things from, um, Archie?"

I shrugged. "He has the best taste."

"You never told me about your family," he reminded me. "We ran out of time the other day."

I pushed the basket of breadsticks toward him, hoping he'd eat something. He looked alright, amazing, in fact, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I wanted all my bases covered.

"I'm not going into shock," he reassured me, reading my actions.

"Humor me?" And then, on purpose, I smiled enough to show my dimples.

To my immense surprise, it worked. He grumbled petulantly as he picked up a breadstick and bit off the top.

"Good boy," I praised him, laughing, mostly in shock.

He tried his best to glare at me as he chewed, and I laughed again at how non-threatening he looked. Just more adorableness.

"I don't know how you can be so blasé about this," I admitted, "You don't even look shaken. A normal person—" I stopped myself there. "But then, you're not so normal, are you?"

He shook his head and swallowed. "I'm the most normal person I know."

"Everyone thinks that about themselves."

"Do you think that about _yourself_?" He lifted an eyebrow, challenging me.

I pursed my lips. That wasn't the same.

"Right. Do you ever consider answering any of my questions, or is that not even on the table?"

"It depends on the question." My tone was wary. Here was the conversation I'd been dreading.

"So tell me one I'm allowed to ask," he suggested.

I thought about that for a minute, surprising myself with the realization that I _wanted_ to tell him more than I could. I wanted to answer his questions, but I also wanted to keep him safe, and so, the two pieces of the puzzle did not fit together, no matter how much pressure I employed, no matter how much I hoped they, somehow, could.

The waiter came over with Beau's food then, setting it down in front of him. I tuned the waiter's thoughts out as best I could.

"Did you change your mind? Isn't there anything I can get you?" I didn't miss the double-meaning in his thoughts.

I declined, but did ask for more soda. Without another word, he picked up the glasses and walked away.

"I imagine you have a lot of questions for me." I could have changed the subject, but I hadn't. I wanted to know his ponderings. I wanted to give him what I could.

"Just a couple thousand."

"I'm sure," I said wryly, "Can I ask you one first? Is that unfair?"

He considered that for just half a second and then nodded eagerly. "What do you want to know?"

I wished I could be as open as he was.

I thought about his openness, his willingness… His instincts were all wrong—reacting in reverse, in opposition to how he should be. He stared danger in the face and vaulted himself toward it. And I wondered, how could I protect him from myself when _neither_ of us wanted that?

I stared at the table, organizing my thoughts before I spoke.

"We spoke before," I began lowly, "About how you were… Trying to figure out what I am. I was just wondering if you'd made any more progress with that." This was the burning question, the one place I wondered where he stood.

He didn't answer, and finally I had to look up into his face. His expression was blank, frustrating color blooming beneath his skin. His eyes were slightly wide, and troubled. I deflated a bit.

"It's that bad, then?"

"Can I—can we not talk about it here?"

"Very bad," I confirmed, half to myself. Very, very bad. If it wasn't the truth, it was something close to it, something he believed in enough that he didn't think it appropriate to discuss in public. _If_ he knew my secret—and I was counting on that ' _if_ '—the three separate futures had very suddenly been cut down to two. I agonized over this. So I _had_ damned his soul.

"Well, actually, if I answer your question first, I know you won't answer mine. You never do. So… you first."

This seemed fair. "An exchange, then?"

"Yes," he agreed.

We were disturbed briefly by the waiter's return with the Cokes, but he didn't say a word as he set them down and then left.

"I suppose we can try that," I acquiesced, and then I hated to add, "But no promises."

"Okay… So what brings you to Port Angeles tonight?"

Ha. An easy-sounding enough answer—for him. It gave away nothing on his part, but everything on mine.

I folded my hands carefully on the tabletop, and stared down at them for a minute before looking up at him.

"Next."

"But that's the easiest one!" he argued.

I shrugged. Maybe for him. "Next," I repeated.

He stared down at the table, brows furrowed. Frustrated? Meticulously, he unrolled his silverware, picked up his fork, and speared a bite of pasta. Infuriatingly slowly, he put it in his mouth, chewed, and then swallowed. And then, just when I thought I would die from anticipation, he paused to take a sip of Coke.

"Fine, then," he finally said, "Let's say, hypothetically, that… someone… could know what people are thinking"—I froze—"read minds, you know—with just a few exceptions."

This I was not expecting. I was reminded again by how intelligent, how quick he was. No one else had ever guessed this about me—except for Carine, and then it had been because I was answering all her thoughts for her when I was first changed, as opposed to her spoken words. She had understood before I had…

The question wasn't the _worst ever_ , I supposed. It wasn't a sole piece of the vampire cannon, and so I went along with it.

"Just _one_ exception. Hypothetically."

His face went blank with shock, and then he fought a smirk.

What was _that_ about?

"Okay," he continued after a minute, "Just one exception, then. How would something like that work? What are the limitations? How would… that someone…"— _i.e. me_ —"find someone else"— _i.e. you—_ "at exactly the right time?"— _i.e. Just before you were brutally beaten to death by a pipe in a back alley._ "How would she even know I was in trouble?"

"Hypothetically?"

"Right." His eyes danced with mirth. He was happy I was going along with this.

"Well, if… that someone—"

"Call her _Jane_."

I felt myself smile. "If your Hypothetical Jane had been paying better attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." I rolled my eyes in exasperation, and relief, looking back at it now, "I'm still not over how this could happen at all. How does anyone get into so much trouble, _so_ consistently, and in _such_ unlikely places? You would have devastated Port Angeles's crime statistics for a decade, you know." I was aware, by the end of my monologue, that I had given up on the charade.

"I don't see how this is my fault."

"I don't either. But I don't know who to blame."

He leaned forward, elbows on either side of his plate. "How did you know?"

I stared at him, torn. Did I tell him the truth? And, if so, how much of it? I _wanted_ to tell him. I wanted to be deserving of the trust he still had for me, so clear in his eyes. I did not deserve that, which he still wholeheartedly gave to me.

"You can trust me, you know." He reached forward, as if to lay his hand over mine, but I pulled my own back, and it was painful to do so. His hand fell flat to the table.

He had given me no evidence against this. It was true—I knew I could trust him to keep my secret; and I was surprised by just how much I wanted to give up the whole façade, and to let somebody in—for the first time in my entire existence. But it risked too much on his part.

"It's what I _want_ to do," I whispered, "But that doesn't mean it's right."

"Please?"

I couldn't deny him. I couldn't. "I followed you to Port Angeles. I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes. I was wrong before, when I said you were a magnet for accidents. That's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for _trouble_. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you." Why him? What had he done, as pure and good as he was, to deserve any of this?

"You put yourself into that category, don't you?" he guessed.

"Unequivocally." I was the most dangerous of all the fraught possibilities.

He stretched across the table once more, ignoring my retreat this time, and laid his hand on top of mine. I clenched my jaw, riddled with anxiety over the way my skin must have felt to him, repulsed by the nature of myself, but he didn't react with disgust, or even surprise. It was as if he'd been expecting the chill.

"That's twice now," he said, "Thank you."

 _Please, don't thank me, Beau._ _You're in more danger than everything else combined sitting here with me right now._

"I mean," he said now, his tone bright, joking, "did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and you're messing with fate? Like those _Final Destination_ movies?"

But his humor didn't touch me, because that _hadn't_ been the first time.

"Edythe?"

My head fell forward with the weight of the shame, and my hair obscured my face.

"That wasn't the first time." The truth ran full-bodied and freely now, unbridled, "Your number was up the first day I met you. It's not twice you've almost died, it's three times. The first time I saved you… it was from myself."

He was very quiet, and I could hear that his breathing had accelerated. I forced myself to look at him, terrified of the fear I would see in his eyes.

"You remember? You understand?"

"Yes."

I waited for more, but his face stayed calm and even. His eyes held the awareness, the understanding that I had wanted to murder him that first day, and still—here he sat, unmoving, his hand on mine.

"You can leave, you know." I said the words, though they caused me great pain. "Your friends are still at the movie."

"I don't want to leave," he said.

This infuriated me. _Why_ wasn't he afraid of me? He _should_ be! Here I was, admitting to my desire to murder him, and he didn't _want_ to go?!

"How can you say that?"

He patted my hands, totally calm. "You didn't finish answering my question," he reminded me, "How did you find me?"

I glared at him, wishing that he would be angry, too, because how could he not feel betrayed, and defiled, and horror-struck by something such as this? How could he _sit here_ and reassure _me_?

I shook my head and sighed. "I was keeping tabs on Jeremy's thoughts. Not carefully—like I said, it's not just anybody who could get themselves murdered in Port Angeles. At first I didn't notice when you set off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with him anymore, I drove around looking for someone who had seen you. I found the bookstore you walked to, but I could tell that you hadn't gone inside. You'd gone south, and I knew you'd have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of everyone I could hear—to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried… but I started to feel anxious…" It was coming back to me now, and I felt myself taking those steps, tracking his scent… "I started to drive in circles, still… Listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—" The fury possessed me, and I shut down, every muscle in my body locking into place, because I was still very aware that Beau was touching me, and I did not want to hurt him. But I _did_ want to hurt _them._ I forced myself to stay here at the table with Beau.

"Then what?" he urged.

"I heard what she was thinking," I hissed, anchoring my gaze to his, knowing it would be enough to keep me here, "I heard what she was thinking. I saw your face in her head, and I knew what she was planning to do."

"But you got there in time," he said, like it was nothing.

"It was harder than you know for me to drive away, to just let them get away with that. It was the right thing, I know it was, but still… very difficult. That's one reason I made you go to dinner with me," I admitted quietly, "I could have let you go to the movie with Jeremy and Allen, but I was afraid that if I wasn't with you, I would go looking for those people."

Again, I searched his face for that entirely justifiable reaction. But it didn't come. I had confessed to a second intended murder, and still, nothing. His heartbeat was slightly irregular, but it evened out quickly. His face was slightly paler, but composed.

I was teetering on the edge, and I had no idea if I would fall. Would I kill them, then? Would I betray Beau's ill-founded trust in me? Was there any way to stop myself?

At any rate, he _must_ have had enough truth for one night.

I took a breath, almost reveling in the burn that seared my throat. While I burned, Beau stayed alive. While I suffered, Beau remained safe.

"Are you going to eat anything else?"

He blinked at his food. "No, I'm good."

"Do you want to go home now?"

He hesitated for just a minute. "I'm not in any hurry."

Not in any hurry to be away from a self-proclaimed intended murderess… That displeased me significantly.

"Can I have my hands back now?"

He jerked his away. "Sure. Sorry."

And there it was again… Another apology. I glanced at him as I pulled my bill-fold from my pocket. "Is it possible to go fifteen minutes without an unnecessary apology?" How many times had I heard him apologize, tonight alone?

"Um, probably not."

This made me laugh.

The waiter walked over then. "How are you do—"

"We're finished, thank you very much, that ought to cover it, no change, thanks."

I stood, and Beau fumbled for his wallet.

"Um, let me—" he stammered, "You didn't even get anything—"

A sweet gesture—however, without need.

"My treat, Beau," I assured him. My family had more money than we would ever know what to do with.

"But—" he argued.

"Try not to get caught up in antiquated gender roles."

I headed for the door, giving him no choice but to follow. I let him pass me so he could get the door again—I could give him that, at least.

He held the car door for me, too.

Yes, this was very sweet, and I found myself warmed by his courtliness.

I watched him scramble over to the passenger side, hand sliding across the hood of the car as he went. In the interim, I turned on the heater. The warm weather had ended abruptly, and I wanted him to be comfortable.

When he was inside, I looked pointedly at his seatbelt until he fastened it. Then I pulled out into the light traffic.

I waited until we were past the lights of the boardwalk to speak. It gave me a sense of privacy, an aloneness with him.

Was it right to think like that? Now that my attention was fully on him, the car seemed very small, even cramped. His fragrance intermingled with the heated air, swirling in an inescapable cloud around the car, growing in ever-increasing potency, demanding to be recognized.

Well, I recognized it. My throat burned in agitated recognition, but I did not rebel at the feeling. This was what I deserved, I supposed. It was the least I could endure after all Beau had and would endure because of me.

But I had to limit the reaction to only that—just to focus on the burn. But the venom filled my mouth, and my muscles coiled to spring, as if I were on the hunt.

I needed a distraction, and I knew what would do it for me…

"Now," I said to him, "It's your turn."

…

 **A/N:** As always, let me know what you thought! Thanks!


	9. Verity

**A/N:** I think we're finally getting into a more regular upload schedule! Three cheers for routine! xD Also, I'm trying my hand at Adobe Lightroom, hoping to make my own fan-art for the fic (I found the current one on tumblr, and am technically breaking the rules by using it… Oops.) If anyone has any pointers… Those would be greatly appreciated. I worked with Photo Shop, oh, seven or eight years ago now, in high school, so suffice to say, my skills could use a little refreshing :P

We'll chat again at the end!

Songs of inspiration: "Bloodflood" by Alt J ; "Believer" by Imagine Dragons.

…

"Can-can I ask just one more?"

I shook my head as we drove down the quiet street. "We had a deal."

"It's not really a question," he tried to compromise, "Just a clarification of something you said before."

I rolled my eyes. How could I deny him? "Make it quick."

"Well…" He hesitated. "You said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how… you… knew that."

I deliberated a moment, wondering if it would disturb him if I told him the truth.

"I thought we were past all these evasions," he mumbled disapprovingly.

How ironic. He was evasive all the time, without even trying.

Well, this conversation wasn't going to end up anywhere good, anyway, so I relented.

"Fine, then. I followed your scent."

He stared out the window for a long, silent moment. I heard his breathing accelerate, and then return to normal. Once I was convinced he wasn't deeply disturbed by my superior smelling abilities, I turned the attention back on him.

"Your turn, Beau."

"But you didn't answer my other question," he protested.

"Oh, come _on_."

"I'm serious," he insisted, "You didn't tell me how it works—the mind-reading thing. Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family do the same thing?"

Why not tell him, I decided. He'd already guessed most of this on his own, and this was a far easier subject to discuss than the one that was inevitably coming. In the low, gleaming light of the dashboard, we seemed isolated from the rest of the world, closed inside our own little bubble—a bubble filled with the fire of his succulent fragrance… But I digress. For just a few moments, it seemed there was nobody else in the world. I used this strange sense of non-reality to my advantage.

"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's… _voice_ is, the farther away I can hear him. But still, no more than a few miles." How to explain this so he would understand? "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what he's thinking is clear.

Most of the time I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And then, it's easier to seem _normal_ when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" he asked curiously.

Despite myself, I tried once more to break through the barrier of his still mind, focusing all my effort into doing so. Eventually, I gave up, knowing I wouldn't succeed.

"I don't know. Maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency, and I'm only getting FM." I grinned, amused by the anticipation of his reaction.

And he did not disappoint.

"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" His voice even broke a little on the last word. I really didn't know what it was about his bewilderment that charmed me so.

"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that _you're_ the freak." Ah, the irony. I had to laugh. "Don't worry, it's just a theory… Which brings us back to you."

He frowned, obviously troubled.

I quoted his words from before, not quite able to inject the appropriate level of teasing playfulness into my voice: "I thought we were past all these evasions."

His eyes wandered a moment, and I waited.

"Holy crow!" he suddenly shouted.

"What's wrong?" I searched for whatever had startled him, but couldn't find anything.

"You're doing one-ten!" He was still shouting. He cast his gaze out the window, eyes wide with panic.

This inconsequential thing, a tiny bit of speed, was what had him so scattered? And I had even been _pacing_ myself for the purpose of spending more time with him.

"Relax, Beau." I rolled my eyes. Of all the things he could be scared of…

"Are you trying to _kill_ us?!"

"We're not going to crash," I promised him.

He paused, and then, "Why are we in such a hurry, Edythe?"

"I always drive like this." I turned to smile at him.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" he demanded, panicked again.

"I've never been in an accident, Beau—I've never even gotten a ticket." I grinned and tapped my forehead. Being able to make a joke out of something so absurd made it even funnier. "Built-in radar detector."

"Hands on the wheel, Edythe!" he insisted.

I sighed, pouting just a bit. I didn't like driving slow. I eased off the gas pedal until the needle drifted toward eighty. "Happy?"

"Almost."

 _Almost?_

"I hate driving slow," I complained.

"This is slow?" There was heavy skepticism in his voice.

"Enough commentary on my driving," I said, suddenly impatient. How many times had he evaded my question now? Thrice, at least. It was getting on my nerves. "I'm still waiting for you to answer my question."

He avoided my gaze, suddenly seeming nervous.

"I promise I won't laugh this time," I tried to encourage him.

"I'm not worried about that," he said.

"Then what?"

"That you'll be… upset. Unhappy."

My suspicions solidified just a bit more. I appraised his face. He looked so… Intimidated. I didn't _want_ him to be afraid of me—even hypothetically. If there was some way I could assuage his worries…

Ah. I'd seen so many people reach out with gestures of physical affection in the effort to ease another's anxiety. Maybe I couldn't go _quite_ to that level, but I could extend the invitation.

The heat was blasting through the car now, sure to combat the frigid nature of my skin, and so I lifted my right hand off the gearshift and offered it to him, not confident enough in myself to touch him, but willing enough for him to take my hand on his own accord.

His eyes lifted to mine, and I could see the hesitance there, warring with the desire.

"Don't worry about me. I can handle it."

He took my hand in his, and I curled my fingers around his very, very gently. And then I dropped my hand back to the gearshift. I was surprised when his hand settled over top of mine—surprised, but also pleased. His skin was warm and soft, and it stirred feelings inside me that were not familiar, but they were not unpleasant either. His thumb traced a line from the edge of my wrist, up to the tip of my smallest finger, trailing with it a path of smoldering fire.

He was stalling, and though the particular action he was stalling with didn't displease me, I was getting rather impatient.

"The suspense is killing me, Beau."

"I'm sorry," he apologized—again. "I don't know how to start."

I waited a long moment, listening to the sound of his nervous, uneven breaths. His thumb followed the path it had taken up my hand, all the way back down.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," I finally suggested, "Is this something you thought up on your own, or did something make you think of it—a comic book, maybe, or a movie?"

I regretted not perusing the selection of reading material in his room last night. I had no idea if Bram Stoker was there in his collection of worn paperbacks.

"Nothing like that," he said, "But I didn't think of it on my own."

He paused, and I waited.

"It was Saturday—down at the beach."

This confused me. The local gossip about us had never strayed from what I'd heard—nothing too bizarre, or precise. Was there something new that I'd missed? A new story?

"I ran into an old family friend—Jules, Julie Black," he went on, "Her mom, Bonnie, and Charlie have been close since before I was born."

Julie Black—the exact name wasn't familiar, but it did ring a bell… I stared out the windshield, leafing through memories, trying to put her name to the correct one.

"Bonnie's one of the Quileute leaders…"

I froze, understanding pinning me in place. _Emily Black_. A descendent of hers, no doubt.

This was bad, as bad as bad could get.

He knew the truth.

The corollaries were racing through my mind, each one a new stab of anguish. We flew around the dark curves in the road, and my body stayed as rigid as stone—except for the small, unthinking ministrations it took to steer the car.

He knew what I was, and yet… He'd spent the entire evening with me… Willingly. I couldn't comprehend it.

"There was this Quileute woman on the beach," he continued, "Sam something. Logan made a comment about you—trying to make fun of me." I wondered, for a fraction of a second, why talk about me would provoke Beau. "And this Sam said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it sounded like she meant something more than that. Jules seemed like she knew what the woman was talking about, so I got her alone and kept bugging her until she told me… told me the old Quileute legends."

"And what were those legends? What did Jules Black tell you I was?"

His lips parted, and then he closed his mouth.

"What?" I barely breathed.

"I don't want to say it," he admitted.

"It's not my favorite word, either." I was surprised to find it wasn't so hard to talk about it, now that the truth was out in the open. As long as we kept to the details of the revelation, and not the consequences. "Not saying it doesn't make it go away, though. Sometimes… I think _not_ saying it makes it more powerful."

He hesitated for half a second, and then barely whispered, "Vampire?"

I flinched. Somehow, it was even worse than knowing that he knew, hearing him speak the word out loud.

We drove in silence for another moment as I attempted to arrange my thoughts.

"What did you do then?" I asked finally. He couldn't have decided the evidence was concrete based upon the story alone.

"Oh—um, I did some research on the Internet."

Of course he did. "And that convinced you?"

"No. Nothing fit. Lots of it was really stupid. But I just…" He stopped suddenly. I thought he was just pausing in his speech, but when he didn't continue, I glanced over at him.

"You what?"

"Well, I mean, it doesn't matter, right? So I just let it go." The words tumbled from his lips in a rush, but I caught each one easily.

Surprise stilled my thoughts for half a second, and then it all made sense. Why he'd gone with me tonight, instead of escaping with his friends; why he had gotten in my car with me again after dinner, instead of running for the hills… His reactions were always _wrong._ He _courted_ danger.

How could I protect someone who was so dead-set against being protected?!

"Um, Edythe—"

"It doesn't _matter_?" Fury heated my voice. " _It doesn't matter_?"

"No," he said, "Not to me, anyway."

"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not _human_?" Enraged tears would have filled my eyes if I'd had the ability to produce them.

"No."

I was coming to the conclusion that the boy wasn't entirely stable.

I began to think of the ways I could arrange care for him. Carine would have good connections, I knew. Something _had_ to be done about this—about his absolute lack of coherency, the absence of his fear in the presence of a vampire. I would watch over him at the whichever facility he was housed in, of course… I would ensure he had the best psychiatrists, the best therapists, the best nurses to oversee his care…

"You're upset," he murmured, "See, I shouldn't have said anything."

I shook my head vehemently. "No," I disagreed, "I'd rather know what you're thinking, even if what you're thinking is in _sane_."

"Sorry."

There it was again!

He stroked my hand slowly, once more, and, inexplicably, his touch calmed me. My skin was warming under his, and it felt surprisingly vitalizing.

"What are you thinking about now?" I wanted to know.

"Um… nothing, really."

I doubted that. "It drives me crazy," I confided, "Not knowing."

"I don't want to… I don't know, offend you."

Aha! He _was_ hiding something. "Spit it out, Beau."

"I have lots of questions," he warned me, "But you don't have to answer them. I'm just curious."

"About what?"

"How old you are."

Ah. And despite all that he knew, and the lack of secrets between us, the answer spilled out of me on auto-pilot. "Seventeen."

Suddenly, I found humor in it. Yes, I _was_ seventeen. I had been seventeen for ninety-three years.

"How long have you been seventeen?" he finally pushed, almost as if he were reading my thoughts. What a reversal that would be…

"Awhile."

His lips pulled up in an unexpected smile. "Okay."

Okay? _Okay_?!

When I glanced at him, his smile grew, and I again found myself questioning his sanity.

"Don't laugh," he said now, "But how do you come outside in the daytime?"

I laughed anyway. "Myth."

"Burned by the sun?"

"Myth."

"Sleeping in coffins?"

"Myth." I wondered if this would surprise him. Sleep had been absent from my life for such a long time—that is, until the last few nights, as I'd watched Beau dream… "I can't sleep."

He was quiet for a minute.

"At all?"

"Never."

I stared into his eyes, wide and clear under the lush fringe of his lashes, and longed for sleep. Not for oblivion, as I had before, not to escape boredom, but because I wanted to _dream_. Maybe, if I could be unconscious, if I could dream, I could live for a few hours in a world where he and I could be together. He dreamed of me. I wanted to dream of _him_.

He stared back at me, his expression full of wonder. I had to look away. I could not dream of him. He should not dream of me.

"You haven't asked me the most important question yet." Something in my chest hardened into a block of ice, determination—resolute and cold. He had to be forced to understand, to see, no matter how much pain it caused me.

"The most important question?" he repeated.

"Aren't you _curious_ about my diet?" My tone turned scathing.

"Oh. That one."

"Yes. That one. Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

He flinched, and it brought me a sick sense of relief. Finally, he was catching on. "Well, Jules said something about that."

"Did she now?" My tone was still mocking. I couldn't quite control it.

"She said you didn't… hunt people. Your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"She said we weren't dangerous?" I highly, _highly_ doubted that. The elders would _never_ tell their children that we posed no threat to them.

"Not exactly," Beau amended, "Jules said you weren't _supposed_ to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

I focused on the winding road ahead, my thoughts a hopeless, inescapable knot, fiery thirst scorching my throat.

"So, was she right? About not hunting people?"

"The Quileutes have a long memory," I breathed in answer.

He nodded to himself.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," I warned him, discouraged by his easy platitude, "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous." And _I_ was especially dangerous to _him_.

"I don't understand," he confessed.

"We… try. We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make… mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

His scent was still an inexorable cloud in my car, and though the bloodlust was tightly reigned, my body still yearned for his essence. My muscles were still tense, and my mouth swam with venom.

"This is a mistake?" I could hear the hurt in his voice, and as much as it pained me, as much as it gave me hope, it was the truth.

"A very dangerous one."

He was quiet for a very long moment. I listened to the way his breath hitched and nulled in a way that didn't quite sound like fear.

"Tell me more," he begged, and there was a strange anguished heartbreak in his voice. I wanted to soothe it, but I could offer him no words of encouragement.

"What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," he requested, his voice still thick with unnamed emotion, and when I looked closer, I saw the thin sheen of moisture in his eyes.

This strange turn in his mood startled me.

"I don't _want_ to be a monster," I told him, and the very truth of the words lanced through me. I desired too much to be good enough for this human boy. I wanted so much to be normal, to be _human_. It was a dream that would never come to fruition.

"But animals aren't enough?" he pushed.

I searched for another analogy he would understand. "I can't be sure, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time… Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you now?" he asked.

Agh. The very question I did not want to answer. I exhaled in defeat. "Yes." I felt very weak, admitting this.

"But you're not hungry now." His words sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes. I have a theory about that." Of course he did. "Seems like the color is linked to your mood—and people are generally crabbier when they're hungry, right?"

I laughed, startled once more by his supreme awareness. "You're more observant than I gave you credit for."

"So everything I thought I saw—that day with the van. That all happened for real. You _caught_ the van."

What was the point in denying it anymore? "Yes."

"How strong are you?"

I glanced at him sideways. "Strong enough." _Too strong for you._

"Like, could you lift five thousand pounds?" He sounded strangely enthusiastic now.

"If I needed to. But I'm not much into feats of strength. They just make Eleanor competitive, and I'll never be _that_ strong."

"How strong?" he wanted to know, the zeal still present. I couldn't make sense of it. Shouldn't this _frighten_ him? Instead, he seemed thrilled by it…?

"Honestly, if she wanted to, I think she could lift a mountain over her head. But I would never say that around her, because then she would have to try." I laughed fondly, picturing it in my mind. Eleanor had never backed down from a challenge before, and I didn't think that would change anytime soon.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with, uh, Eleanor?"

"Yes." I hesitated, conflicted over whether to tell him more. But I wanted him to _know_ me. It was a desire difficult to resist, and so I told him the rest. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?"

Was it not becoming obvious? "It makes me… anxious… to be away from you. I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed." I shook my head. No, not completely intact. I remembered his hands. "Well, not totally unscathed."

"What?"

"Your hands."

He looked down at his palms, the nearly healed scrapes across their heels. "I fell," he explained.

"That's what I thought," I murmured, unable to hide my smile. I'd guessed correctly. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that was the possibility that tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Eleanor's nerves."

"Three days?" This seemed to surprise him. "Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't you in school?" For whatever reason, he sounded… Frustrated.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"I'll show you sometime." It was easier to demonstrate, rather than to explain. And I found that I didn't really want to explain at the moment. I was anxious about the way he would react.

"You could have told me."

This confused me. "But I knew you were fine."

"Yeah, but _I_ didn't know where _you_ were. I…"

"What?"

"It's going to sound stupid… but, well, it kind of freaked me out. I thought you might not come back. That somehow you knew that I knew and… I was afraid you would disappear. I didn't know what I was going to do. I _had_ to see you again." Heat rose behind his skin.

It became clear, then, that all my wildest imaginings, hopes, had not been quite so off the mark as I'd thought. I was filled with a swirl of emotions—horror, shock, anger… Euphoria, grandiosity, tenderness… _This_ was why it didn't matter to him that I was a monster. _This_ was why he was going against his every instinct—if they were, indeed, intact. In this moment, I realized we were much the same in this. That our quest for right and wrong, for morality, had been thrown to the side for one thing more important—one another.

Beau cared for me, as well.

I realized that it could not compare to way that I loved him—for a human heart could not handle the amount of adoration I held for this human boy—but it was enough that he went against his impulses by sitting here with me. It was enough that he would be hurt if I were to leave him, and never come back. It was _too much_.

"Edythe, are you okay?" His voice was low, intense with concern, for me.

"Ah," I moaned quietly, "This is wrong."

"What did I say?" He was perplexed.

"Don't you see, Beau?" I _begged_ him to see. "It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." I turned my eyes on him, hoping he would see the desperation in my expression. "I don't want to hear that you feel that way. It's wrong. It's not safe. I'll hurt you, Beau. You'll be lucky to get out alive." Anguish tore through me. Nothing would stop me—I was on a runaway train, helpless to the outcome.

"I don't care," he said.

"That's a really stupid thing to say."

"Maybe," he agreed, "But it's true. I told you, it doesn't matter to me what you are. It's too late."

"Never say that," I snapped, maybe so irritated by the words because, in a way, I believed them to be true on some deep, cellular level. But there was a stronger, more fervent part of me that I _knew_ was strong enough—strong enough to find a way to spare him. "It's _not_ too late. I can put things back the way they were. I _will._ "

He was quiet for another minute, and I could feel the blood rush under his skin in the air between us.

"I don't want things back the way they were."

If I had a heart, it would have torn in two. I had done irreparable damage to this poor boy already. The anguish of this consequence was too much to bear.

"I'm sorry I've done this to you."

I slowed the car as we drifted into the town's boundaries.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked, becoming aware of our whereabouts, recognizing we were almost to his home.

"Do you want to?"

"More than anything else I've ever wanted."

I closed my eyes as equal amounts of ecstasy and affliction tore through me at his words. I figured I might as well enjoy the joy with the pain.

"Then I'll be there," I promised him. And then his heart skipped a beat. Unexpected warmth flooded the empty, hollow cavity where my heart used to lay. "I do have a paper to turn in."

I pulled up in front of the Swan residence, but he didn't move to leave me.

"Save me a seat at lunch?" he asked finally.

I grinned. This was a promise I could keep. "That's easy enough."

"You promise?" His voice was intense again.

"I promise."

We stared at each other for a long, drawn out moment. I was captivated, absolutely enthralled by the wide depth in his eyes—I wanted to stare into those eyes forever, drown myself in them and never resurface. All of the consequences—the two sides of Archie's vision trying to beat their way into my skull—none of that mattered in this singular moment. I watched as Beau's eyes unfocused, drinking in every inch of my inhuman, angular face, as I greedily drank in every inch of his perfection. What did he see there, in my expression? Did he see how different I was, how alien and unusual? Or did he only see the attraction of the predator?

The motion had been gradual, but suddenly, he was very _there_ , very close, his eyes focused on my mouth, and his scent consumed me. For a fraction of a second, I leaned forward, too, led by the unnamed urgency in my body.

All at once, the young ghost of a flutter in my heart—a young girl swooning—turned to impassioned temptation, and I cowered away from it, cutting off my breathing, forcing my body to lock down against the inescapable urge to sate my hunger—whether it was the familiar bloodlust, or the new, strange yearning I had never felt before.

I slid as far away from him in the small space as I could, pressing my back to the driver's side door, and I held my hand up in front of his face in warning.

He jerked back. "Sorry!"

I took a moment to compose myself, and once my body had relaxed, I chided him softly: "You have to be more careful than that, Beau."

His left hand was still on mine, and I reached over with my free hand, closing my fingers around the delicate composition of flesh and muscle and bone, I lifted his wrist and slid my hand out from underneath his.

It was still warm as I drew it to my chest.

Beau folded his arms over his own chest.

I was suddenly eager to leave. My head was swirling with the occurrences just past, and I needed to get my bearings. I warred with the internal oppositions—wanting to stay with him, to be near to him, and wanting him to be safe.

"Maybe—"

"I can do better than that," he interjected. "Just tell me the rules, and I'll follow them. Whatever you want from me."

I sighed. I didn't want _anything_ from him. Hadn't he already sacrificed enough?

"Seriously," he insisted, "Tell me something, and I'll do it."

Ah. There was something. I smiled, satisfied. "All right, I've got one."

Patricia and Charles were well on their way to Seattle by now, no longer a threat, but there were others. The world was not as safe as the humans presumed it was, and it was particularly unsafe for Beau, for whatever reason.

"Yeah?"

"Don't go in the woods alone again."

Shock passed over his expression. "How did you know that?"

Just yesterday, the possibility of being able to confess this had been lost on me. Tonight, it was easy.

I touched the tip of my finger to my nose.

"Really?" Again with the odd enthusiasm, "You must have an _incredible_ sense—"

"Are you going to agree to what I ask or not?" I interrupted him, for he had not promised yet.

"Sure, that one's easy. Can I ask why?"

I frowned and looked out the window, into the deep shadows of the forest bordering the east side of his property. "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shudder. "Whatever you say," he vowed.

I sighed. It was time for him to go, as much as I hated the idea of being away from him, for any length of time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Beau." Or, at least, _he_ would see _me_ tomorrow. I would see him much sooner than that.

He opened the door and began to step out of the car.

"Tomorrow," he said sternly.

Sharp torment it was, to watch him leave.

I yearned to keep him here, just a moment longer.

I leaned across the console.

"Beau?"

He turned and ducked back into the car, and his face was just inches from mine. His sweet, fragrant breath washed over my face, and the same urgency, the same desire that I had not been able to pinpoint, filled me anew.

His heartbeat stuttered.

"Sleep well," I breathed, exhaling my breath into his face, knowing what it would do to him. And then I leaned away before I did something I would regret.

He stayed there for a few seconds, stunned, and then he backed out of the car, clutching the frame—for balance?

I couldn't help but laugh. Although I felt much the same way, my recovery had been much quicker than his.

I watched him stumble to the front door, and then started the engine.

He was safe, in the warm light the front bulb casted across the porch, and I felt his eyes on me as I drove away, down the street.

Regardless of his momentary welfare, I would be back soon, to make sure he stayed that way.

I drove aimlessly up and down the night-darkened streets for hours, trying to make sense of the whirlwind in my mind. So much had taken place this evening, and the emotions were overwhelming me.

I was struck by the incredible relief that came in Beau knowing the truth. I hadn't expected to feel this way, and it was a pleasant surprise. Despite the fact that it 'didn't matter' to him, that he didn't care I was a monster, it was strangely cathartic for me.

But more than the relief, I was overwhelmed by the thought of Beau, and his requited love. I had spent so long torturing myself over the agony of thinking it would not be returned, that I had been alone in my feelings. To know he loved me—not as much as I loved him, but close—had given me the deepest joy I had ever known. I had been alone for nearly a century, always feeling like some part of me was missing, never feeling complete, and now, I had found that missing piece. Beau made me whole.

For a while I allowed myself to focus on that joy—just the joy, without the consequence. Just to feel that wholeness, that all-encompassing joy. To know that he had chosen _me_ above everyone else who had fought for his attention. I allowed myself to imagine how it would be to be able just bask in his presence, day after day, to watch him smile, listen to him talk, to feel his radiating warmth—not only physical, but on more an emotional level. Beau's mental and emotional warmth was, to me, warmer than the sun. The buttery heat of a bright, mid-day sun could not compare to the luxuriant glow I felt when I was in his presence.

I conjured up the image of his face in my mind's eye, replaying his smile again, and again—the faint dimple in his chin, the swimming pools of his eyes, the way his skin had been so warm against my hand tonight…

I didn't realize where my train of thought was leading until it was too late. Suddenly, it wasn't his hand, relaxed, on top of mine, it was his hand clutching my forearm through my jacket; it was the panic on his face, blue eyes shards of terrified ice.

 _"Drive, Edythe!"_ he'd shouted desperately, _"He's got a gun!"_

A low, infuriated snarl ripped through my teeth. And the rage from before, extinguished by the joy of loving Beau, burst into flames anew.

I was glad that I knew Beau was safe where he was, inside the shelter of his home. I was glad for the figure of authority he had in his father—Chief Swan would be able to defend his son against the kinds of humans that had tried to hurt him tonight. But could I let these particular ones go free? Could I allow them to carry on with their savage ways? They had been prepared to murder the object of my love and total devotion, because they'd assumed he'd seen something he insisted he had not. It was absolute insanity. How many other people had they hurt for ridiculous reasons such as this? How many lives had been stolen for absolutely no reason?

Any one of them could have been, and still had the potential to be, someone's Beau.

That thought gave me resolve.

I turned the car north, accelerating smoothly now that I knew where I was going. Whenever I had a dilemma such as this one—something substantial I wouldn't be able to undertake on my own—there was one person I always went to.

Archie was sitting on the porch, waiting for me, staring up at the stars. I put the car in park in front of the house rather than going around to the garage.

"Carine's in her office," he told me without my having to ask.

"Thanks," I said as I passed him.

 _Thank_ you _for returning my call,_ he thought darkly.

I paused. "I'm sorry," I said, pulling out my phone and checking my recent calls. "I didn't even check to see who it was. I was… Distracted."

"Yeah," he said dismissively, "I'm sorry, too. By the time I saw what was going to happen, you were gone."

I sighed. "It was close… Too close."

 _Sorry_. The shame was obvious in the tenor of his mental tone, and I turned back to sit beside him on the step for a moment.

I rested my head on his shoulder. It was easy to be gracious when I knew Beau was safe. "Don't be. You can't fix every problem in the world. No one expects you to be _that_ good, Arch." I grinned at him, and knocked his shoulder with mine.

"Yeah." He was still apologetic.

"I thought about asking you to a movie tonight—did you catch that?"

He grinned. "Nope, missed that one too. I would have been there in a heartbeat."

"What had you so distracted that you missed so much?"

He laughed. _I'm trying to figure out what Jess is gonna do for our anniversary. She's trying not to make any decisions yet, but I think I have an idea._

I laughed. "You're shameless."

"Yep."

Then he narrowed his eyes at me.

 _I paid better attention once I caught on to what was happening. Are you going to clue them in that he knows?_

I sighed, having already thought of the conundrum that would be. "Yes. But not right now."

 _I won't tell a soul,_ he promised, _Do me a favor and tell Roy when I'm not around?_

I flinched. "You got it."

 _Beau took it pretty well,_ he noted.

I groaned, lifting my eyes to the stars, searching for Saturn's rings. "Too well," I whispered.

Archie laughed and wrapped an affectionate arm around my shoulders. _Don't underestimate him._

I tried to block the mental image of their friendship out.

Impatient now, I sighed and began to rise. I wanted this next part of the evening over with. But I was a little anxious to leave Forks.

"Archie?" I began to ask, but he was two steps ahead of me.

 _He'll be good for tonight. I better keep a closer eye on my man. He kind of requires twenty-four seven surveillance, doesn't he?_

I rolled my eyes. "At least."

"Anyway." He patted my leg, "You'll be back together soon enough."

I sighed once more, but this time in satisfaction. The words were beautiful to me.

"Go on—get this over with so you can be where you want to be," he urged.

I nodded and headed inside and up the stairs, to Carine's office.

She was waiting for me, eyes on the door rather than on the thick text that lay in front of her on the desk.

"I heard Archie tell you where to find me," she explained, smiling tenderly. It filled her, too, with joy to see me happy after such a long-extended bout of unhappiness.

I felt great relief being here with her, to be able to see the wisdom and the compassion in her eyes. She would have the answers I needed.

She came to me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders—seeing the dilemma in my eyes.

"I need help," I confessed against her shoulder.

She leaned back and appraised my face. "Anything, Edythe," she promised, and the vow was genuine.

"Did Archie tell you what…" My jaw clenched, the rage surging once more. "…Almost happened to Beau tonight?"

 _Yes._

I let my head hang underneath the weight of the guilt. "I want… Very much… To kill them," I confessed. Carine's hands were on my shoulders, helping me hold up this very black weight. My next words followed in hitching gasps, "But I know that would be wrong, because I want vengeance, not justice. I'm being led purely by anger, there is no objectivity in my thoughts… But still—it can't be right to leave dangerous gang members like that running around! I don't know anyone there, but I can't let them continue to take victims for reasons as ludicrous as the ones they were prepared to kill Beau over tonight. Other people have their own 'Beaus' out there, and they may feel the same way I do. Might suffer what I would have if Beau had been harmed—"

The unexpected wide smile on Carine's face stopped my words.

 _Oh, Edythe,_ she mused with tenderness as she pulled me into another hug. _He is so very good for you, can't you see? Such compassion, such self-possessiveness… I'm awestruck by your personal growth in the past short while._

I pulled back from her embrace. "I'm not looking for compliments, Carine."

"Of course not," she said, "But I can't help my reactions now, can I?" She smiled softly, holding my face in her hands for another moment. "I'll take care of it. You can rest easy, my child. No one else will be harmed in Beau's place."

I saw the course of action she would take in her mind. It did not hold the same brutality I had wished I could carry out, but I knew, regardless, it was the right thing.

"I'll show you where to find them."

"Let's be on our way, then."

She picked up her black bag on our way out the door. I would have much preferred a more aggressive form of sedation—a cracked skull, perhaps—but I would let Carine do this her way.

We took my car. Archie was still sitting on the step and waved as we drove away. He'd looked ahead for us and had discovered we would encounter no opposition.

The drive back to Port Angeles was very short. I drove with the headlights off, so as not to attract attention. If Beau had been frightened before, how would he react _now_? I almost smiled at the idea.

Carine was thinking of Beau, too.

 _I didn't imagine just how well a fit he would be for her. That's unexpected. Perhaps this was somehow meant to be, to serve a higher purpose… Only…_

She pictured Beau with snowy white skin, and blood red eyes, and I flinched away from the image.

Yes. _Only_ indeed.

My mood plummeted into blackest night, and again, I was swarmed with the anguish of impossibility. How could I damn someone so pure, and so blameless?

 _Edythe deserves happiness. She is innately_ good _, though she cannot see it. If only she could see herself the way I see her…_ I was surprised by the fierceness in Carine's thoughts. _There must be a way._

I wished I could believe any of the thoughts she had, but there was no higher purpose. Only cruel circumstance come to steal away everything the boy deserved.

I didn't linger in the small tourist town. Quickly, I located the woman's thoughts—the one who had originally decided Beau would be better off dead—and was glad to find the tall man with the gun was with her, along with the remainder of their accomplices. I took Carine to the scummy bar they were drinking in. She could see how difficult it was for me to be near the people who had wronged me so.

My breathing accelerated, and my fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

 _Go home, Edythe,_ Carine urged, _Go back to Beau._

These were the only words that could have made it through to me in this moment, through the funneling vortex of rage.

I left her with the car and ran back to Forks in a straight line through the damp, dark forest. The return was faster on foot, and I was scaling the side of Beau's house in no time at all.

I pushed the window out of my way and eased myself into the room.

And everything was how it should be. Beau was asleep in the small bed across the room, his hair awry. He was curled into a ball, though, which was not the usual way he tended to sleep, and as I watched, he shivered, his lips trembling. Hmm. I frowned. He was cold.

I deliberated for a moment, and then stepped silently into the hallway, a part of the house I had never explored before. In the next room, Charlie's snores were loud and steady. He was dreaming, though I couldn't quite make it out… Something about the babble of water, and patient expectation… Fishing, perhaps?

I went to the small linen closet at the top of the stairs and selected the thickest looking blanket, and carried it back into Beau's bedroom.

I held my breath as I draped the extra layer over him, but he didn't react to the added weight, and I settled myself into my usual seat in the corner.

I waited anxiously for his body temperature to come up.

It took about half an hour, but he finally relaxed out of the tight ball he'd been curled into and sighed. His breathing slowed, and sure enough, he began to mumble unintelligibly.

I found myself smiling, satisfied. It was an inconsequential happening, but at least he was more comfortable tonight due to my presence.

"Edythe," he mumbled, and he smiled, too.

I shoved my formerly sour mood aside for the moment, and let joy overtake me once more.

…

 **A/N:** Aww… So sweet….

And now, we return to our previously scheduled programing…!

Holland Roden makes such a perfect Edythe to me (also debating Madeline Petsch from _Riverdale_ , but Holland's face is just a tad… Kinder? Not that I don't think Madeline is a Queeeeeen. She's just a little more severe-looking kind of beautiful. But idk. Aren't vampires all about that 'severe kind of beautiful'?)

Beau, however… Agh. So much trouble. Do I go for SM's pick of Logan Lerman? He just looks too young, or something… Though maybe since last year he's come of age a bit… Or maybe Nate Hill…? Though Nate is just a little _too_ perfect looking, IMO. Dylan Minette is another good choice, I think. From _13 Reasons Why_? Yeah. IDK. I'm still deciding.

Leave your opinions in the reviews for me, because, obviously, your girl is struggling!

And as always, leave me some love. I'm sending tons to you, my lovely readers! xo


	10. Interrogations

**A/N:** I missed something in Chapter 5, and have since gone back and corrected it. Just something minor regarding Taylor's thoughts, but regardless. I like to have all my bases covered. NOTE: There is some language in this chapter (tsk, tsk, Royal. I tried and tried to convince him, but he just would not reign in his rudeness.)

No particular songs of inspiration for this one, but I _am_ working on compiling a playlist on 8tracks. I'll let you all know as soon as I release it. And if you have any songs in mind that remind you of Beau and Edythe (particularly from Edythe's perspective), feel free to leave them in a review! Thanks for all your lovely responses last time. I do read every one, even if I don't respond to all of them. 3

Enjoy this one, lovelies! We're so close to the halfway point (i.e. Me—thrown in the metaphorical deep end xD) !

…

I arrived home just as CNN broke the story.

It was a heavy news day, and so the piece only garnered a few seconds' worth of the reporter's time. There was an earthquake in South America, and a political kidnapping in the Middle East, and the story was slipped in between the two.

They discussed the drug bust and the discovery of some highly ranked gang leader that hadn't been in the grouping of people Beau had encountered last night, but their connection had been enough to lead them to the warlord just a few hours later. Apparently, both the woman and the man Beau faced in the alley had pending warrants for their arrests in Texas and Oklahoma, for possession and murder.

"The coverage here in town will be light," Archie told me. I swiveled my head away from the TV screen to look at him, where he stood at the bottom of the stairs. "It was a good call to have Carine take them out of state."

I nodded, squinting my eyes at the fuzzy pictures of the two bandits. The man had had a thick beard at the time of the mug shot, and the woman's hair had been fashioned in a severe cut, and been dyed bright red. I didn't think Beau would recognize the two, but regardless, I hoped he wasn't watching the news this morning. He needn't worry when there wasn't reason to.

I had succeeded in my endeavors, I supposed. The group of thugs was no longer causing harm, and I was not a murderess. As of late, anyway.

I supposed I should have been happy about this, but I found myself hoping the two would be extradited to Houston for their trial, where the death penalty was ever so popular.

I shook my head sharply. I would focus on what was important, what was concrete now, and put this eventful night behind me.

I headed toward the stairs to shower and change for school.

"Archie, do you mind—?"

"Royal will drive," he interjected, "He'll act pissed, but you know he looks for any excuse he can to show off his car."

We laughed together as I climbed the stairs, but both of our chortling cut off short when I reached the landing and found Royal standing there. He'd heard the entire discourse. He narrowed his eyes at me as I mashed my lips together and cast a look over my shoulder at Archie.

He was obviously restraining himself, and we both burst into guffaws once more, over something that wasn't really all that funny. But that was the way with Archie and I—a couple of misfits in a land of misfits…

…

I felt a hint of unease when I pulled into Beau's empty driveway just a little while later.

The human adage said that things looked differently in the morning, and I wondered how much of that was true for Beau. Had the truth set in while he'd slept? Would I look more sinister than I had last night, in the foggy pallor of a new day?

It had seemed he'd dreamed peacefully last night. He'd murmured my name a number of times, and had once even asked me to stay with him. Would that mean nothing today?

I waited anxiously, listening to the sounds of him inside the house—stumbling, quick footsteps on the stairs, the contents of the refrigerator crashing against each other when the door slammed, the sharp zip of his rain jacket, the thunk of books shifting in his bag as he pulled it over his shoulder, the jingle of keys, the turn of a doorknob…

I held my breath when he appeared on the front porch, looking a tad scattered, and I realized that he was running late—probably forced to drive slower than was preferable in that old, rusting truck of his.

He wore a thick, shapeless green sweater this morning, but he held his shoulders slightly hunched, as if it were not warm enough.

I compared this outfit choice to the one from the night before and debated over which one I preferred.

Last night, his thin sweater had hugged his chest, his arms; it had made the blue of his eyes pop.

This sweater hid his figure from me, draped the broadness of his shoulders and the sculpt of his chest in secret. I decided it was better that he wore the unbecoming clothes today. It kept that strange new yearning inside me tamed when I couldn't as easily stare at the sleek shape of his body. I couldn't afford to make mistakes, and it would be an enormous error to deign on those yearnings that thoughts of his perfect lips… his skin… his arms, and chest… Yearnings were shaking loose inside of me that had evaded me, somehow, for nearly a hundred years.

I could not allow myself to think of touching him. He would fracture and break under my monstrosity. He was too fragile.

Beau turned away from the now locked door. He was in such a rush that he'd paced several steps down the driveway before he saw me. He skidded to a stop, and I heard his heart stutter.

 _Oops._ I'd startled him… And there was that bewildered puppy dog expression again. So adorable.

I wound down the passenger side window and leaned toward him, trying not to laugh.

"Would you like a ride to school?" I asked him. I said it with a smile, but I was suddenly unsure. _Would_ his slumber have aided to remind him of my danger? Would he want nothing more to do with me now that he knew of my atrocity, my crime against humanity? At any rate, I would let this be his choice. From here on out, everything would happen according to his say.

And then I was no longer afraid of the rejection, because his blue eyes swam with warmth and pleasure and fascination. There wasn't an inkling of the fear I had hated to anticipate.

"Yeah, thanks," he said. He opened the door and ducked inside.

I didn't think the fact that he'd chosen me would ever lose its thrill, and I found myself grinning as he slumped into the seat beside me. This was wholly incomparable to the happiness I felt when I was amongst my family. Nothing could top the euphoria I felt in Beau's presence.

He noticed, then, the light tan jacket I had slung over the passenger headrest. It was Royal's, and though he wouldn't be particularly overjoyed about my… sharing… I didn't care. Beau's health was more important than Royal's petty wrath.

I already had the heat blasting, in the event that Beau accepted my ride to school.

"What's this?" he asked, throwing it a pointed glance.

"Royal's jacket. I didn't want you to catch a cold or something."

I watched disapprovingly as he very carefully picked the jacket up and set it on the backseat. Then he reached forward into his bag and pulled out the scarf I'd lent him last night. He put that on the backseat as well.

"I'm good," he told me, and then thumped his fist against his chest twice. "Immune system in top form."

I laughed, thinking he was adorably ridiculous, but I didn't argue my point, relenting as I reversed out of the driveway and headed toward the high school.

He was quiet for a good few blocks, and I allowed it, until curiosity overcame me.

"What, no Twenty Questions today?"

"Was that annoying last night?" He sounded embarrassed.

"Not annoying," I assured him, "just… confusing."

"What does that mean?" he inquired, sounded surprised.

"Your reactions—I don't understand them," I explained.

"My reactions?"

I glanced at him, cocking an eyebrow. "Yes, Beau. When someone tells you they drink blood, you're supposed to get upset. Make a cross with your fingers, throw holy water, run away screaming, that sort of thing."

"Oh. Um… I'll do better next time?"

Bafflement. Pure bafflement.

"By all means, please work on your expressions of horror," I joked.

"Horror isn't exactly how I'd describe last night."

In equal measure, joy and irritation consumed me, and I sighed. There he went again, flirting with peril.

"So, um, where's the rest of your family?" he asked after a minute.

"They took Royal's car," I told him as I pulled into the school parking lot. I pointed vaguely to the glossy red BMW as I pulled in next to it. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

"If he's got _that_ , why does he ride with you?"

Royal would have liked Beau's reaction… If he were being a little more objective and a little less irritating.

"Like I said, it's ostentatious. We _try_ to blend in."

I gathered my bag.

Beau laughed as he popped open his door. "No offense, but you're totally failing there."

I rolled my eyes and got out, too. His carefree laughter filled my bosom with warmth, even as the doubt clouded my mind.

"Why did Royal drive today if it's more conspicuous?"

Was he _trying_ to unearth every one of my vulnerabilities?

"My fault," I confessed, "As usual, Royal would say. Haven't you noticed, Beau? I'm breaking _all_ the rules now."

I slung the strap of my bag over my shoulder and rounded the hood to fall into step beside him. I walked as close as I dared, wanting to bask in the warmth of his presence, wanting to touch him, but being too afraid of the consequences. Twice, his hand flickered in my direction, and then he would snatch it back, and I suspected that he wanted to reach out and touch me, like he had last night, but he resisted.

I suspected it was because I had asked him to be more careful in the car last night. Suddenly, I didn't want him to be so careful. But I quickly reigned in that desire. Yes. We would _need_ to be careful. For his safety.

"Why do you even have cars like that?" he asked as we walked onto campus, "If you're looking for privacy, there are plenty of used Hondas available."

I would have liked to see Royal's reaction to _that_ suggestion. "It's an indulgence," I admitted with a sheepish smile, "We all like to drive fast."

"Of course," he muttered darkly under his breath.

 _No. No way. My man, Beau! How the hell did he score this_ good? _I do not get it…!_

Jeremy Stanley was waiting for Beau underneath the cafeteria roof's awning, and his boggled mental cries caught my attention. He was holding Beau's jacket over his arm.

"Hey, Jer," Beau called when we were nearly upon him, "Thanks for bringing that."

Jeremy's mind was an incoherent swirl of question as he passed the jacket over silently.

"Good morning, Jeremy," I greeted him with a small smile, deciding I _should_ use my manners around Beau's friends, whether I was a fan of them or not.

 _Gah—wha… Huh?_ "Er… hi." He dragged his eyes to Beau's face, desperately scrambling for a hold on his mental stability. "Guess I'll see you in Trig," he told him.

"Yeah, see you then," Beau agreed.

Jeremy's thoughts re-ordered, though still frantic, as he turned away and headed for his first class, glancing back at us twice.

 _No way. I just can't believe this. Edythe_ freaking _Cullen! Howw?! How long has this been going on? Was last night planned—had he been planning to ditch us the whole time? Why on earth would he keep this a secret? God—he gets to shag that, and he tells no one? I mean, he's still with her this morning, so they had to have gotten up to_ something _last night… I wonder what base he's gotten to… I wouldn't put it past her, the freaky little thing that she is…_ I tuned him out.

"What are you going to tell him?" I asked Beau.

"Huh?" He looked at me, and then glanced toward Jeremy's retreating back. "Oh. What's he thinking?"

No way was I cluing him in without knowing what he was thinking first. "I don't know if its entirely ethical for me to tell you that…" I hedged.

"What's not _ethical_ is for you to hoard your unfair advantages to yourself," he teased.

I grinned. Alright, then, I could be fair. "He wants to know if we're secretly dating. And exactly which base you've gotten to with me."

As expected, the blood rushed into Beau's face with alarming speed and concentration. Unconsciously, I had moved too close, and his scent burst into the air between us. I gritted my teeth against the agony in my throat and put a foot of distance between us.

"Um, what should I say?" he inquired after a beat. The blood rush faded as quickly as it had come.

I started walking again, wondering how he would react to my suggestions.

"That's a good question," I teased when we came upon his English class door, "I can't _wait_ to hear what you come up with." His choice. This had to be _his_ choice.

" _Edythe_ …" he complained.

Oh, so, _so_ adorable and beguiling. Especially when his bewilderment _and_ my name happened to coincide in the same moment.

Then I paused, spying a piece of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Partially because it was distracting, and partially because I wanted an excuse to touch him, I reached up to brush it away, careful not to touch his skin in the process. He was already chilled enough in the morning air without my frigid touch.

His eyes widened slightly, warmth glowing beneath his skin, and his heart skipped. This was definitely _not_ a fear reaction, and ecstasy burst forth inside my chest.

"See you at lunch," I said to him, and then headed for my own first class of the day.

As I crossed the soggy grass toward building eight, I vaguely noticed the varying degrees of suspicion, shock and awe in the students' minds, as their eyes flickered between Beau and my retreating figure.

I took my usual seat, glad for once that my teachers had long ago stopped calling on me. Today might have been the day they caught me unawares… For, as always, I was watching Beau. He held a short conversation with McKayla, but quickly directed the dialogue toward Jeremy.

I actually laughed out loud, one short note of victory— _ha!_ —and it drew attention. Several students glanced back at me, and I was grateful that class hadn't started yet.

I was also monitoring Jeremy—loosely. He was still putting together the questions he would have for Beau in fourth period Trigonometry, and I found myself anticipating their conversation with great fervor, though I could tell the nature of how it would go from Jeremy's standpoint, and I wasn't overall pleased with it. But maybe I'd get more answers.

I was also watching Allen Weber.

I had not forgotten his unrelenting kindness toward Beau, and I was grateful for it. That, and he had been the one to clue me in on the fact that Beau had gone missing last night. I kept tabs on him throughout the morning, hoping I could discover something that he wanted, and to be able to give it to him in thanks. I assumed it would be an easy task—there had to be some gadget, toy, video game, that he wanted. I would deliver it anonymously and call us even.

But Allen was oddly satisfied for a teenage boy. Happy. He was one of those people who had what they wanted, and wanted what they had. If he wasn't paying attention to his teachers and taking notes, he was thinking of his younger twin sisters, who he was planning to take to the beach this weekend. He felt an almost paternal love for them. He was often left in charge of the two, but he did not resent this fact. It made me like him even more.

But not what I was looking for. There had to be something he wanted… But that would have to wait, because suddenly, I was distracted.

Beau and McKayla were walking across campus together after class had ended, and the conversation had taken an unexpected turn.

McKayla was trying to figure out how to broach the subject of prom with Beau. Apparently, Taylor assumed Beau was taking _her_ and McKayla wanted to know if it was true.

 _"… Maybe we can get a group thing together for prom. Share a limo,"_ she was saying.

Out of her periphery, I saw Beau stop walking.

 _"Uh, I wasn't really planning on prom…"_

I sighed. I would have to find the reasoning for that some other time. I focused on McKayla's reply.

 _"Really? Shocking!" What is it with this guy and social outings? "You might want to mention it to Taylor, though. She says you're taking her." Moment of truth, here it comes. Gawd, I am gonna be so mad if he_ is _taking her… Like, I'm way closer to him than Taylor is, and I, like, have actual feelings for him, un_ like _Taylor, who just_ feels bad _because she, y'know, almost crushed him with her van… Victims' attraction and all that…_

I tuned her out and listened for Beau's response. I was not disappointed. Beau's jaw totally unhinged, lips parting with an audible pop. I laughed out loud, and Rachel Sawyer glanced over at me.

 _Freak_ , she thought.

I ignored that.

 _"Are you serious?!"_ Beau was saying now, voice breaking, _"I mean, she was probably joking."_

 _"Logan and Jeremy were talking about getting started early and putting together a big thing for prom, and then Taylor said she was out because she already had plans—with you. That's why Logan's being so… you know…"_ A few insults suggested themselves to her. _"…about you. He has a thing for Taylor…"_

I didn't listen to the rest. But this particular nugget of information _was_ interesting.

Nothing eventful happened in the interim between his Government class and Trigonometry, but I reigned in my focus once again, watching Beau walk into the classroom through Becca Lancer's eyes.

Jeremy was already in his seat, both knees bouncing impatiently.

 _Huh. Dude looks… Upset. Did something happen? Did they break up?_ His mind started playing through the possibilities of my availability almost immediately. He had no regard for what Beau would have felt if that were even in the realm of possibility, and besides, he didn't look upset—he looked nervous. He knew I would be listening, and I couldn't help but smile to myself from where I sat in my assigned seat at the back of my own fourth period English lesson.

 _"_ Dang _, son. Who knew you had that kind of game?"_

Beau rolled his eyes, already done with Jeremy's theatrics, and I giggled. _"I have no game,"_ he replied. Oh, on the contrary…

 _"Please."_ Jeremy reached over to punch Beau in the arm. _"_ Edythe Cullen. _C'mon. How did you swing_ that _?"_ Jeremy's mind was filled with all the creative possibilities.

 _"I didn't do anything."_

 _"How long has this been happening? Is it some kind of secret? Like, she doesn't want her family to know? Is that why you pretended you were going to the movie with us?"_

 _"I wasn't pretending anything. I had no idea she was in Port Angeles last night. She was the_ last _person I expected to see."_

 _What? But… Oh…_ Jeremy's enthusiasm deflated in response to Beau's steady honesty.

 _"Have you ever been out with her before last night?"_

 _"Never."_

 _Huh. It sounds like he's telling the truth. Why is he being so secretive about this? If I were him, I'd be shouting this conquest at the top of my lungs._

 _"Huh. Just a total coincidence?"_

 _"I guess."_

 _No way… I know that look. He's lying! I'm totally gonna call him out on it! Let's see if I can rile him up… Get something out of him that way._

 _"Because, you know, it's not a secret that you've been, like, obsessed with her since you got here."_

What?

Beau winced, not denying this claim in the least.

Glowing emotion expanded inside me. Obsessed? And he hadn't denied it. So, apparently, I was not the only one with an issue in enchantment.

This realization had that palpable joy exploding inside me like fireworks.

 _"It's not?"_ he asked.

 _I still don't get it… Like, Beau's kind of a loser. How did he manage…? "So, I have to wonder how you turned that around." Maybe he's got, like, some mad make out skills… "Do you have a genie in a lamp? Did you find some blackmail on her? Or did you trade your soul to the devil or something?"_

 _"Whatever, man."_ Beau was getting irritated, and Jeremy noted this with pleasure. I noted it with disapproval. Why was this necessary, to talk to him like this?

Jeremy's thoughts perused a different avenue.

 _"Exactly how much did you get in the bargain? Bet it was a pretty wild night, eh?"_

 _"It was an early night. Home by eight."_ Beau's voice was calm, but something like metallic anger glinted in his eyes.

 _"Are you serious?"_ Jeremy was extremely disappointed.

 _"It was just dinner and a ride home, Jeremy."_

He was lost. _"What about this morning, though? You were still with her."_

 _"_ Still _? No! What—you thought she was with me all night?"_ Beau looked slightly mortified.

Jeremy was still mystified. This hadn't been what he'd expected to hear in the slightest. _"She wasn't?"_

 _"No."_

 _"But you were in her car—"_

 _"She picked me up for school this morning."_

 _But…? "Why?"_

 _"I have no idea. She offered me a ride. I wasn't going to say no."_

That was all he thought it was?

 _"And that's it?"_

Through Jeremy's eyes, I watched Beau shrug.

 _"Really? Please tell me you at least made out with her—anything."_

 _"It's not like that."_ Did I detect the hint of disappointment in Beau's tone? He cast his eyes away from Jeremy now, avoiding his gaze.

 _Damn. Tough luck. Looks like he wanted it…_

I frowned. Beau did look upset about something. His eyebrows pulled together as he continued to avoid Jeremy's gaze, but it couldn't be _that_. After all he'd discovered about me last night, I would think the _last_ thing on his mind would be _kissing me._

The image rose, sudden and unbidden, behind my eyes. For half a second I imagined what it might be like to kiss Beau. My lips, pressed to his… Cold, unyielding stone to warm, plush softness…

And then he dies.

I shook the insane notion away, wincing.

 _"That is, hands down, the most disappointing story I've ever heard in my entire life. I take back everything I said about your game. Obviously, it's just some pity thing."_

 _"Yeah, probably."_

Wait. What did _that_ mean? How could he possibly think that?

 _"Maybe I should try to look more pathetic. If that's what Edythe is into."_

Okay. That was enough. I felt my fists curl into hard balls underneath the desk.

 _"Go for it."_

What?! That response, too, was completely senseless! Did he really _believe_ the absurdity this boy was feeding him?

 _"It won't take her long to get bored with you, I bet."_

For just a moment, Beau's eyes flashed in that strange, metallic way again. His voice was like thinly veiled glass. _"Yeah, I'm sure you're right."_

I didn't know how to make sense of that, either.

 _Damn, look at him get all defensive._ Jeremy thought smugly. _Time to put the nail in the coffin._

 _"You know what, though? I think I'd rather be with a normal girl."_

It was true, Jeremy did think of me as strange—again, those long-standing survival instincts. He thought I was intimidating, and had felt like a complete idiot this morning when I'd greeted him.

 _"That's probably for the best."_ Beau's voice was hard. _"Keep your expectations low."_

 _Oh yeah. Definitely crazy about her. Weird. I don't—shoot! What did Ms. Varner just say?_

The feeling I felt now was unfamiliar and distracting. Despite Beau's words, it had seemed like he was almost trying to… Protective me against Jeremy's slurs. To be thought of in that way was unfamiliar.

But I still couldn't make sense of the other things Jeremy had said to him. Had Beau really believed that his feelings were larger than my own—that I was only doing this out of pity? That I would grow bored with him?

Beau was easily the singularly most exciting being I had met in my entire existence.

Obviously, he didn't think the same of himself, and I wondered where things had twisted so severely out of shape for him. How had things ended up so wrong inside his head? _Maybe it's just a pity thing?_ _Maybe_ I shouldn't rule out the possibility of Beau's mental instability quite yet.

I glared daggers at the clock, wondering how mere minutes could feel like such an eternity.

Lunch could _not_ come fast enough.

…

I could hardly bring myself to check in with Jeremy during the next hour. His musings on the relationship between Beau and I had been completely pushed to the wayside, and he was now focused on his newfound obsession with McKayla Newton. I'd had just about enough of the two of them to last me an eternity.

He had hardly gotten me any answers, but that was okay. I would give it all of my effort to get more out of Beau at lunch. He would not escape my inquisition, not this time. _Especially_ not after all that confusion over pity and boredom.

I moved listlessly through Gym class with Archie, the way we always moved when we were forced to partake in physical activity around humans. He was my teammate, of course. It was the first day of badminton. I sighed with weariness, swinging the racket in slow motion to tap the birdie back to the other side. Logan Mallory was on the other team; he missed. Archie was spinning his racket on the tip of his pointer finger, staring apathetically up at the ceiling.

We all despised gym, Eleanor especially. Throwing games was an insult to her personal philosophy. Gym seemed worse today than usual—I felt just as irritated as Eleanor always did.

So I was glad when Coach Clapp dismissed the class early. I was exceedingly grateful that she had skipped breakfast—a new diet effort—and the resulting hunger had her in a hurry to hunt out something fatty and carb-loaded. She made a vow to start again on Monday.

This gave me enough time to get to the Spanish building before Beau's class let out.

 _Have fun,_ Archie thought as he headed off to escort Jessamine to the cafeteria, _Let me know when I can introduce myself to my ol' buddy._

I shook my head, exasperated. When would he give it a rest?

 _Oh—and just so you know, it's going to be sunny on both sides of the sound this weekend. Might want to rearrange your plans._

Exasperating, yes, but also very useful.

I leaned against the wall to wait for Beau. I was close enough that I could hear Jeremy's physical voice, as well as his mental tenor.

"You're not sitting with us at lunch today, are you?" _He looks all… Keyed up. Kid is_ definitely _holding out on me._

"Um, not sure," Beau answered, oddly hesitant.

Hadn't I told him I'd see him at lunch? What was going through his adorably thick skull?

Jeremy headed for the door without waiting for Beau, feeling a tad betrayed. He had assumed, since they'd been friends for awhile, that Beau's loyalty would have been with _him_ instead of just 'some chick', but apparently he had been wrong. He was still lost in thought when he came out the door and saw me standing there, waiting for Beau.

He skidded to a stop.

"Seriously, _what the hell_ ," he said, a little unnecessarily loud. He glanced back over his shoulder, shook his head, and then walked away.

I had to wait some more for Beau to exit. Each time another student came through the doorway and caught sight of me, they would glance back at Beau before continuing on. It began to amuse me, and by the time Beau exited the classroom, I was barely holding back my smile.

"Hello, Beau."

His eyes were wide and bright. "Hi."

"Hungry?"

"Sure," he said easily.

I turned toward the cafeteria, slinging the strap of my bag over my shoulder. To my surprise, Beau jumped forward.

"Hey, let me get that for you."

I turned doe-eyes on him. "Does it look too heavy for me?"

"Well, I mean…" he stammered.

"Sure." I slid the bag down my arm, anticipating how this would end with some amusement. Archie had me bring a couple extra books for him today, and I wondered if, all along, this had been part of his plan. A little comedic relief, so to speak.

I held the bag out to Beau, purposefully holding it with just the tip of my smallest finger. There was no resistance, no effort in holding the bag up. This was nothing.

"Er, thanks." He reached out and gripped the strap. I released my hold, and the ensuing scene did not disappoint.

Beau managed to catch it before it hit the ground, and he huffed with the effort it took not to stumble under the weight of the cream-colored _Marc Jacobs_ Crossbody. He swung it, with some effort, over his free shoulder.

We started walking again.

"Do you always bring your own cinder blocks to school?"

I laughed. "Archie asked me to grab a few things for him this morning."

"Is Archie your favorite brother?" The question was casual and completely unassuming.

I looked at him, trying to infuse the right amount of disapproval into my expression. I didn't think I succeeded. "It's not nice to have favorites."

"Only child," he said in way of explanation, "I'm everyone's favorite."

Certainly mine. "It shows," I deadpanned. "Anyway, why do you think that?"

"Seems like you talk about him most easily."

Hm. That was reasonable enough, I supposed. And I wondered _why_ talk of Archie came so easily. He was the most supportive, yes, but I had to wonder if it had anything to do with the fact that Archie was, at every available opportunity, trying to weasel his way in to Beau's life.

I led Beau over to the food line once we were inside and picked up a tray.

I didn't pay any mind to my siblings, who were already sitting at their table, until Archie's thoughts became unexpectedly ecstatic. I looked up. He was smiling at Beau, and Beau was smiling, somewhat hesitantly, back at him.

I was surprised by the flame of anger that rolled through me, almost a strange sense of possessiveness. Beau had _hardly_ adjusted to the idea of _me_. I really was not a fan of overwhelming him with everything and every _one_ at once. Especially over-enthusiastic Archie.

Just because he was the psychic, and he was so set on the future, didn't mean he could get his way all the damn time.

 _Oh, come on, Edy,_ he taunted, holding my eye from across the room, _Let me say hi to my old pal, Beau._ He purposefully pulled his lips back from his teeth until his smile was just a wide snarl. He was baiting me, and he knew that I knew it.

 _Back off,_ I wanted to tell him, but I supposed my facial expressions would need to be enough. I lifted my eyebrows, and curled my top lip just a tad.

He rolled his eyes and held his hands up. _Fine, fine. You win. I'll wait one more day._

That settled, I turned my back to my 'favorite' brother, who was quickly becoming my most _annoying_ brother, and began to pile food on the tray without pausing to look at it.

"I'm pretty close with all my family," I explained to Beau now, knowing that Archie was listening, "but Archie and I do have the most in common. Some days he's really annoying, though."

Archie was laughing at me, unbothered by my jab.

I stepped forward to the cash register so the lunch lady could ring us up.

"That'll be twenty-four-thirty-three."

"What?" Beau said, distracted, and then looked down at the tray.

I paid, and then headed for the table we'd sat at last week. So much had changed since then… Had it just been a few days ago?

"Hey," he hissed, and I could hear him scramble to catch up with me, "I can't eat all that."

"Half is for me, of course."

He gave me a doubtful look, but I ignored it and sat down, pushing the tray of food into the center of the table. I didn't know his preferences yet, so I had selected one of everything.

He raised his eyebrows, still skeptical. "Really."

"Take whatever you want."

He sat, lowering our bags to the floor. At the other end of the table, a few seniors watched us, their minds blank with awed surprise. I didn't give them any attention.

"I'm curious," Beau said now, "What would you do if someone dared you to eat food?" His voice was low, too quiet for human ears to pick up. Immortal ears, however… Would easily perceive his words, if they were so inclined. I realized I probably should have said something to them earlier… Oops. My bad.

"You're always curious," I complained, and then made a face. Of course I'd eaten human food before—I had a charade to uphold. A very disgusting, non-pleasant part of the charade, but still… I picked up the thing closest to me, a triangle shaped, doughy, cheesy, greasy thing, and tore off the tip, popping the small bite in my mouth. I chewed as quickly as I could and forced the morsel down my throat.

It dropped hollowly into my empty stomach.

I sighed as I thought about how I'd have to regurgitate it later. Horrendous.

Beau stared at me, looking impressed, his eyebrows raised, a very slight hint of a smile on his lips.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?"

The small smile broke into a wide grin. "I did once… on a dare. It wasn't so bad."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised. Here." I offered him the rest of whatever I'd eaten. The oleaginous slime of it still coated my tongue and esophagus. Ugh.

He took a bite and began to chew.

 _What. The. Hell! Okay, there is_ so _something going on over there. Look at them leaning toward each other like that. If I didn't know better, I'd say she liked him._

I locked eyes with him, and he averted his gaze quickly, cursing internally. His face flooded beet red, embarrassed at being caught.

I giggled softly.

"What?" Beau inquired.

"You've got Jeremy _so_ confused," I explained.

"Tough." The muscles in his jaw flexed, and I recognized that metallic glint in his eyes again.

"He really let his mind run wild when he saw you get out of my car," I hinted.

He only shrugged, wordless, and took another bite of… Whatever it was.

I tilted my head to the side, curious to the point of desperation. I was barely containing myself. "Do you truly agree with him?"

He looked up, swallowing too quickly, and he began to choke. I half jumped up.

Before I could take action, he held up a hand, quickly recovering. "I'm fine," he said, "Agree with him about what?"

"Why I'm here with you."

He thought for a long, agonizing moment, and then I saw the flash of some emotion in his eyes I couldn't quite make out.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Lies! He was avoiding it, and I couldn't fathom why. I gave up the gentle ease into the conversation and quoted Jeremy's earlier words: " _'Obviously, it's just some pity thing'?_ " The irritation spiked through me anew. How could he, in his mere seventeen years of mortal life, ever doubt that my affections—with nearly a century to build—could be based on something as insignificant, as petty, as _pity_ and _boredom_?

"It's as good an explanation as any," he said.

"And I'll be getting bored soon, will I?"

He was obviously hurt by this. He didn't do a very good job of hiding it as he shrugged. He really, truly believed this, and that realization struck me so suddenly it left me frozen for a sixteenth of a second. It didn't matter that I had made my affections clear. It hadn't gotten through to him.

It baffled me that he could not see in himself what was so obvious to me. His kindness, his bravery, his self-sacrifice…

"Beau," _My dear, dear Beau…_ "You're being ridiculous again."

"Am I?"

How to change this perspective he had of himself? "There are several things I am currently worried about. Boredom is not one of them." I tilted my head to the side, seeing the doubt in his eyes. "Don't you believe me?"

"Um, sure, I guess. If you say so."

I felt my eyes narrow. "Well, that was an overwhelming affirmative." Heavy sarcasm.

I watched as he took another bite of food and chewed slowly, contemplatively. His eyes were full of unspoken thoughts and reservation, and even though I knew it wouldn't work, I probed the steel wall of his mind once more.

When he took a second bite without speaking, I huffed an exasperated breath through my nose.

"I truly loathe it when you do that."

He swallowed what was in his mouth. "What? Not tell you every single stupid thought that passes through my head?"

I fought back my amused smirk. "Precisely."

"I don't know what to say. Do I think you'll get bored with me? Yeah, I do. I honestly don't know why you're still here. But I was trying _not_ to say that out loud, because I didn't want to point something out that you might not have thought of yet."

"So very true," I answered sarcastically, "I never would have realized it myself, but now that you mention it, I really ought to be moving along. That Jeremy suddenly seems alluringly pathetic—" His face fell so drastically, I immediately regretted the joke. Remorse lanced through me, leaving me breathless. His eyes were so full of anguish. "Beau? You know that I'm joking."

He nodded as if he believed me, but his eyes were still miserable, and his face had lost some of its color.

I had hurt his feelings again, and the guilt it brought on had me desperate to comfort him. I remembered what had worked before, and I extended my hand across the table, leaving it in easy reach in case he was so inclined to take it.

Without hesitation, he covered my hand with his own.

All of my siblings reacted to this, but one individual mental voice was the loudest.

 _WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE, YOU SELFISH BITCH?! HOW_ COULD _YOU? ARE YOU SET ON DESTROYING EVERYTHING CARINE HAS BUILT FOR US?_

I winced at the crashing sound of fury in Royal's thoughts.

"Sorry," Beau said, pulling his hand away.

"No," I objected, "It's not you. Here." As lightly as I could, aware of just how breakable he truly was, I rested my fingers in his palm. He folded his fingers around my hand, and the buttery warmth—better than sunshine—enveloped me.

"What was wrong just now?" he inquired in a low voice.

"Many different reactions. Royal has a particularly strident mental voice."

Even now, his thoughts were a blizzard of furious insults and slander. Eleanor was none too happy about Beau's sudden awareness of us, but she was more insulted that I hadn't come to her first. It was more about the lacking loyalty of her sister than the actual breach of injunction.

Beau's eyes shifted over my shoulder, and Royal's feverish abuses suddenly had a different target. I was used to his anger and his slights. But this, I would not stand for.

I wrenched around in my seat, pulling my lip back into a threatening, territorial scowl. He could insult me all he wanted, but to direct those slurs toward Beau was unacceptable. He had done nothing wrong.

Eleanor turned around at once, her thoughts repentant. Royal relented, dropping his threatening stare, but his anger did not quell even marginally.

 _Sorry, Edy,_ Archie thought, inappropriately amused by the whole thing, _He could tell Beau knew something—and believe me, it would have been a lot worse if I didn't just tell him now. Believe me._

Jessamine was not much happier than Royal, but she kept her composure well.

"Did I just piss off—" Beau swallowed loudly instead of finishing his sentence.

"No," I pacified him fiercely. This was _not_ his doing. I sighed. "But I did."

Beau's eyes shifted over my shoulder once more, and then back to my face. His expression was suddenly severely concerned, even… Protective? "Look, are you in trouble because of me? What can I do?" A flash of panic flickered across his face.

I shook my head, smiling tenderly. I appreciated the gesture, but then again, I did not… "You don't need to worry about me." I could handle myself, despite my 'lack of intimidation'. "I'm not saying that Royal couldn't take me in a fair fight, but I _am_ saying that I never _have_ fought fair and I don't intend to start now. He knows better than to try anything with me."

"Edythe…" His tone was needlessly anxious, and frankly, a tad insulting.

I laughed. "A joke. It's nothing, Beau. Normal sibling issues." As normal as a family of vampire siblings was… "An only child couldn't understand."

"If you say so." I could tell he wasn't wholly convinced.

"I do," I insisted.

His gaze dropped to our hands, which were still folded together on top of the table.

"Back to what you were thinking," I urged.

He sighed.

"Would it help if you knew you weren't the only one who had been accused of obsession?"

He groaned, clearly mortified. "You heard that, too. Great."

I laughed. "I was entranced from start to finish."

"Sorry." _Again_ with the needless apologies!

"Why are you apologizing? It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one."

He only stared at me, an eyebrow raised in skepticism.

How to make him understand? "Let me put it this way… Though you are the one person I can't be _sure_ about, I'd still be willing to place a very large wager that I spend more time thinking about you than you do about me."

He laughed once. "You would totally lose that bet."

That familiar giddy feeling rose up inside me. Like butterflies in my stomach—or at least something of the sort. What was the immortal equivalent for that?

I raised an eyebrow, and then leaned in conspiratorially. "Ah, but you're only conscious for roughly sixteen hours in any given twenty-four-hour period. That gives me quite a lead, don't you think?"

"You're not factoring in dreams, though," he argued.

I sighed. "Do nightmares count as dreams?"

Color rose under his skin, creeping up his neck toward his face. "When I dream about you… it's definitely not a nightmare."

This took me by pleasant surprise, and I felt suddenly very vulnerable, and shy. "Really?"

"Every single night."

I was filled with sudden jovial warmth, and every inch of me was alive with the thrill. I closed my eyes, and focused on that feeling for a moment, and then opened them, ready to tease again. Because it was impossible to believe that his mere mortal affections could come anywhere _close_ to how much I loved him. I had a century of feelings building up inside me—the strength of my adoration for this boy was unrivaled.

"REM cycles are the shortest of all sleep stages. I'm still hours ahead."

He frowned, not laughing at my joke. "You really think about _me_?"

I didn't understand. "Why is that hard for you to believe?"

"Well, look at me." I was. "I'm absolutely ordinary—well, except for the bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so uncoordinated that I can barely walk. And look at you." He waved his free hand toward me.

He thought he was ordinary? He thought that I was somehow _better_ than he was? According to whom? To the shallow-minded, poor-sighted humans? How could he not realize he was the most spectacular… the most striking… I struggled to find the words that would do him justice, and failed.

He had no inkling of just how _extraordinary_ he truly was…

"I can't argue with you about the bad things," I said, unable to hide my grin of amusement. The death always clutching at his heels—not funny. The clumsiness, and his general awkwardness, however—incomparably endearing.

"Well, there you go."

"But you're the least ordinary person I've ever met," I continued.

His eyes locked with mine for a long indeterminable moment. His were lost and beseeching; I felt the intensity in my own. I begged him to understand.

"But why…" he began.

I tilted my head, waiting.

"Last night…" he began again.

I frowned, frustrated. "Do you do that on purpose? The unfinished thought as a way to drive me mad?"

"I don't know if I can explain it right," he mumbled.

"Please try." I begged.

He drew in a deep breath. "Okay," he huffed, and than, mercifully, continued, "You're claiming I don't bore you and you aren't thinking of moving on to Jeremy anytime soon."

I nodded, fighting a grin. How could part of him even believe the joke I'd made? It was insanity to think I could _ever_ find Jeremy, the insubstantial individual that he was, intriguing in the slightest.

"But last night…" Beau went on, struggling a bit, "It was like…"

Anxiety rose steadily inside me, like mercury in a glass thermometer. Where was he going with this?

His remaining words spilled out in a rush: "Like you were already looking for a way to say goodbye."

He'd caught that, apparently. Did he realize that my presence here was purely based on selfishness and weakness? Would he think less of me for that?

"Perceptive," I murmured to myself, and the pain I saw twist his expression spurred my own.

Attempting to comfort him, I tightened my hold around his fingers ever so slightly.

"Those two things are unrelated, however," I went on, hurrying to contradict the assumption I had seen in his anguish.

"Which two things?"

"The depth of my feelings for you, and the necessity of leaving," I explained. "Well, they _are_ related, but inversely," I amended.

His eyes widened, bewildered and lost—except that this time, the pain was so apparent along with the confusion, that it wasn't humorous in the least. "I don't understand."

I struggled to form the words. Would I ever be selfless enough, strong enough, to do the right thing? Would I ever be able to leave him to the destiny he deserved? The _life_ he would have if he stayed human— _not_ what Archie had seen coming for him. "The more I care about you, the more crucial it is that I find a way to… keep you safe. From me. Leaving would be the right thing to do." As I said the words, I willed them to be true.

He shook his head. " _No._ " The word was fire.

"Well, I wasn't very good at leaving you alone when I tried. I don't know _how_ to do it."

"Will you do me a favor? Stop trying to figure that one out."

I half-smiled. "I suppose, given the frequency of your near-death experiences, it's actually safer for me to stay close."

"True story," he agreed, more relaxed now, "You never know when another rogue van might attack."

I frowned at that. True.

"You're still going to Seattle with me, right?" he clarified now. "Lots of vans in Seattle. Waiting to ambush around literally every corner." He was trying to make a joke out of it, but I didn't find it funny.

The lunch hour was coming to a close. I only had so much time with him, and I wasn't going to squander it.

"Actually, I have a question for you on that subject. Did you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying a definitive no to your bevy of admirers?"

"Um…" I could see I'd hit the nail on the head.

"That's what I thought," I said smugly.

"You know, you actually put me in kind of a difficult position with the whole thing in the parking lot with Taylor."

I couldn't resist. "You mean because you're taking her to prom now?"

His jaw fell open, and then he closed his lips and I could hear his teeth grind together.

It took great self-preservation to bury my laughter. "Oh, Beau," His name was tender on my tongue.

Suspicion rose in his eyes. "What?"

"She already has her dress."

Panic abruptly filled his eyes. They popped wide.

"It could be worse," I reasoned, "She actually bought it before she claimed you for the date. It was secondhand, also, not a large investment. She couldn't pass up the deal."

He was speechless, and I squeezed his hand again—gaining confidence—hoping to soothe him.

"You'll figure it out," I encouraged.

"I don't do dances," he griped.

"If _I'd_ asked you to the spring dance, would you have told me no?" I was genuinely curious.

He gazed at me for a contemplative moment. "Probably not," he admitted, "But I would have found a reason to cancel later. I would have broken my leg if I had to."

How utterly odd. "Why would you do that?"

He shook his head. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you would understand."

Ah. And I suddenly did. "Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

"Got it in one," he confirmed.

"I'm a very good teacher, Beau."

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would feel like to allow him to hold me in his arms. Surely, he would wear something much more dapper than this shapeless frumpy sweater—something form-fitting and crisp.

With perfect clarity, I recalled the way his body had felt underneath me, when I'd pulled him out of the way of the van. The memory of that sensation was stronger than the panic, stronger than the despair, stronger than the chagrin. He had been so warm, so soft, forming easily to my own granite shape…

I wrenched myself back to the present moment, and away from the inappropriate recall.

"I don't think coordination is a learnable skill."

I shook my head, no longer willing to focus on the dancing, and all the sensations that might provoke. "Back to the question. Must you go to Seattle, or would you mind if we did something different?"

It was deceitful of me—giving him the illusion of choice, despite the fact that I was not willing to allow him out of my sight for the day. But I was looking forward to fulfilling the promise I had made to him last night, too much for my own good. I was anticipating it almost more than I was dreading it.

"I'm open to alternatives," he said willingly, "But I do have another favor to ask."

As I always was when he asked an open-ended question, I asked warily, "What?"

"Can I drive?"

Disappointment flooded me. Was this another one of his jokes? "Why?"

"Well, mostly because you're a terrifying driver." Oh, _please_. "But also because I told Charlie I was going alone, and I don't want him to get curious."

I rolled my eyes. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving." I shook my head in disgust.

 _Edythe!_ Archie was calling, suddenly urgent.

All of a sudden, Beau's face in front of me disappeared, replaced by a blinding shaft of sunlight—wrapped up in one of Archie's visions.

It was a place I was familiar with, a place I'd considered taking Beau—a small, perfectly round meadow I could call my own, because nobody but myself ever went there. It was a serene, beautiful place where I could guarantee a short while of introversion. It was far enough from any trail or any sort of civilization that even my mind could have some respite.

It was familiar to Archie, too, because he had seen me there not long ago, in one of his indistinct, shadowy visions the morning I'd saved Beau from the van.

In that vague, unclear vision I had not been alone. And now, my companion was clear—Beau was in the meadow with me. So I _was_ courageous enough. He stared up at me from where he knelt in the grass, rainbows shimmering across his face, his wide blue eyes awe-filled.

 _It's the same place,_ Archie thought, his mind consumed by a horror I couldn't find the reasoning behind. I could understand some tension, perhaps, but _horror_? What did he mean, 'the same place'?

And then I saw it.

 _Edythe!_ he blurted anxiously. _Please! Don't!_

I blocked him out angrily.

That was impossible. Wrong. It _wasn't_ going to happen. I would not allow it. He was misinformed, somehow, misinterpreting whatever allowed him to see his premonitions. What he was seeing was completely unreasonable.

Not even half a second had passed, and Beau was still watching me, waiting for an answer to his request. Had he seen the flicker of despair, or had it passed across my face too quickly for his human eyes to interpret?

I focused on the boy in front of me, forcing Archie's ridiculous, lying visions from my head. They were not worthy of my attention.

"Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?"

"With Charlie, less is always more." He was much too confident with these words. "Where are we going, anyway?"

I shoved at the unwelcome premonitions once more. Archie was wrong. Dead wrong. Things had changed so much, since then. The vision was outdated.

"Archie says the weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye… and you can stay with me, if you'd like to."

He caught on immediately, his eyes bright with fascination. "And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?"

"Yes. But if you don't want to be… alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of all the _vans_."

"As it happens," he replied, "I don't mind being alone with you."

Of course not—because his reflexes were all backwards.

"I know. You should tell Charlie, though."

He shook his head. "Why on earth would I do that?"

I glared at him, the visions I couldn't quite manage to suppress swirling through my mind with sickening potency. "To give me some small incentive to bring you back."

He stared evenly at me. "I'll take my chances."

I sighed angrily and looked away. Why had Archie forced this knowledge on me _now_? Why was it relevant?

And Beau—did he get some sick thrill out of risking his life? Was he some sort of twisted adrenaline junkie?

I glared at Archie, who met my fury with a warning glance, his eyebrows raised in a surprisingly paternal way. Beside him, Royal was still furiously derogative, but I didn't care. He pushed back his chair angrily, gripped his Calculus book, and stormed from the room.

"So that's settled," Beau said, regaining my attention, "New topic?"

"What do you want to talk about?"

He glanced left, and then right, as if checking for eavesdroppers. It was needless to tell him that I would be aware of such a thing before he was.

"Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend… to hunt? Charlie said it wasn't a good place to hike, because of bears."

I just stared at him, waiting for him to catch on.

"Bears?" he gasped two seconds later.

I smirked at him, watching it sink in. Would this make him anymore cautious of me? Would it make him take me seriously? Would anything, at this point?

He pulled himself together. "You know, bears are not in season," he told me as sternly as he could.

"If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons."

He lost his composure again. " _Bears_?"

"Grizzly is Eleanor's favorite," I informed him. I watched him carefully for his reaction.

"Hmmm." He took another bite, eyes cast down at the table. He chewed slowly, and then swallowed.

"So. What's your favorite?"

I supposed maybe I should have expected a question like that, but I hadn't. "Mountain lion," I answered disparagingly.

"Sure, that makes sense," he said, nodding casually.

Fine, then. If he wanted to act all natural and off-handed, like we were merely discussing a favorite restaurant…

"Of course, we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators—ranging as far away as we need. There are always plenty of deer and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?" I had to smile.

"So not fun." Hmm. Still casual.

So I continued on with the casual topic. "Early spring is El's favorite bear season—they're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable." I smirked, remembering her dance with the bear last week. Seventy years later, and she still hadn't gotten over her loss against the first one.

"Nothing better than an irritated grizzly bear," he agreed, nodding. His face was still carefully composed—too composed, like a mask.

I gave up, laughing. "Tell me what you're really thinking, _please_."

"I'm trying to picture it, but I can't. How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"

Again, he was missing the point. "Oh, we have weapons." And I curled my lips back from my teeth in a grin that was more a snarl than a smile. "Just not any kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Eleanor hunting."

He shot a glance across the cafeteria at her, and I followed his gaze. Eleanor flexed her muscles, knowing he was watching.

 _Get a load of this, kid,_ she taunted, knowing I was listening.

I laughed.

He turned his unsettled gaze back on me. "Is it dangerous? Do you ever get hurt?"

I had to laugh at his ill-placed concern. "Oh, Beau," I said tenderly, "About as dangerous as your slice."

He glanced down at the remainder of his food. "Yikes. So… are you… like a bear attack?"

"More like the lion, or so they tell me," I said, trying to sound dismissive, "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

"Perhaps," he echoed quietly. It looked like he tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace instead. "Is that something I might get to see?"

I didn't need Archie's help to picture these horrors—my imagination was quite adept in doing that itself.

"Never!" I hissed. I pulled my hand back and wrapped my arms around myself. He was _never_ going to get it, was he? He was not going to be much help in aiding the preservation of his life—I could tell that much.

His hand lay empty on the table, and his heart was hammering. "What did I say?"

I shut my eyes for a minute, regaining control. "I almost wish it were possible. You don't seem to understand the realities present. It might be beneficial for you to see exactly how dangerous I actually am."

"Okay, then, why not?" he pushed, completely undeterred.

I glared at him for a long moment, wishing for him to be afraid. He waited for his answer.

"Later," I retorted and rose to my feet, "We're going to be late."

He glanced around the nearly empty cafeteria, seeming to notice it for the first time. I understood how he was feeling. I, too, lost track of all sense and reason when I was with him.

He jumped to his feet, stumbling once, and picked up our bags off the floor.

"Later, then," he agreed, his voice hard with resolve. Apparently he was going to hold me to that.

…

 **A/N:** Ughh… This chapter gave me _trouble_ and I don't know why! But I think I got it done at any rate. Also, I've been uploading so frequently, because these first eleven (and a half) chapters are very easy to write—copying some dialogue, changing the perspective a tad. The real work starts later, and my uploading will _most likely_ be a little slower. Like, weekly, I'm thinking. But for now, you get my notifications all up in your grill! xD Be glad! See you all soon! xo


	11. Complications

**A/N:** This chapter was brought to you by deeply ingrained teenage hormones and "Burgundy" by Warpaint! xD

Also, happy Thanksgiving weekend to my fellow Canadian friends! I am thankful for my loving, unendingly supportive husband (and his beautiful blue eyes, of which give me such inspiration ;)), and my two beautiful girls—who give me the strength, hope and perseverance to get through each day. Have a wonderful day tomorrow with your loved ones!

…

I walked silently beside Beau to biology. I focused on keeping myself here in the present, with the boy beside me—doing my best to keep Archie's deceitful visions from taking up space inside my head.

We passed Allen Weber on the sidewalk, lingering there to discuss an assignment with a girl from his Trigonometry class. I scanned his thoughts unthinkingly, still searching for a way I could reward him. I hadn't been expecting anything, and was surprised by the longing in his mind.

Ah. There _was_ something he wanted. Unfortunately, it would be a tad difficult for me to cloak Becca Cheney in gift-wrap.

For one singular moment, I felt oddly on par with the boy. It was comforting to know I wasn't the only one with the hopeless yearning inside my heart. I was not the only one living out a tragic love story. Heartbreak was ever-present, whether you were of a supernatural species or not.

In the next moment, irritation gripped me firmly, because his story didn't _have_ to be tragic. He was human, and _she_ was human, and there was nothing stopping them from being together. There was no _point_ in his needless heartbreak! The impossibilities he was unable to surmount inside his head were so insignificant! Why _shouldn't_ he have what he wanted? Why _shouldn't_ he get his happy ending?

Well, I would give him what he wanted. What he had been yearning after for years. In fact, it probably wouldn't even be very difficult, knowing what I did of the human nature. I delved quickly into the thoughts of the girl standing beside him. She didn't seem entirely uninterested, just restrained by the same insignificant problems he was having. Disheartened and reconciled, exactly the same way he was.

I wouldn't have to do much—merely plant the seed of the idea.

I composed the plan quickly, effortlessly. The hardest part about all of it would be to convince El to go along with the plan.

My mood had slightly improved when Beau and I walked into the science building—bolstered by the simple joy of serving others.

Mrs. Banner backed into the room, pulling an outdated TV and VCR on a wheeled frame. She was surpassing a unit she wasn't particularly interested in—genetic disorders—by showing a movie for the next three days. _Lorenzo's Oil_ was not the brightest of films, but it didn't stop the general consensus of relaxation in the room.

I wasn't affected by the freedom from note-taking and tests. The only thing I ever focused on anymore was Beau.

I didn't move my chair away from his today, instead sitting as close as a human would. Closer than we sat in my car, closer than when we walked beside each other. The entire left side of my body was suddenly humming with the warmth coming off his skin.

It was a strange feeling, that familiar simultaneous excitement and nervousness, vivacity and feebleness. The sensation was a more intense one than I knew what to do with, and yet, I found I craved _more_ of it. I wanted to be closer to him still.

And then Mrs. Banner turned out the lights.

The hyperawareness of his proximity grew exponentially. It was odd just how much of a difference the darkness made, considering it had no effect on my eyesight whatsoever. I could see with just as much clarity as I had before. I could still see every detail in the room.

So why the sudden feel of static energy in the air around me, in the dark room that was not dark to me? It felt suddenly as if we were entirely alone, the two of us, in a world far away from the other students—whose various consciousness's and attentions were already diverting.

On its own accord, my body began to shift toward him, just to loop my arm through his in the darkness, maybe lean my head against his shoulder. The material of his sweater was thick, but if the cold of my skin bothered him, he need only pull away.

I tucked my arms to my sides, folding my arms securely over my chest. I clenched my fists into balls. No errors. I could not afford them, and, more importantly, _Beau_ could not afford them. If I looped my arm through his, I would only want more. The desire to rest my head on his shoulder hinging directly from that urge had proved as much.

The opening credits began to roll across the screen, and Beau folded his own arms across his chest, his fingers curling into fists of their own.

 _What are you thinking?_ I wanted to whisper in the darkness of the room, but it was too quiet around us, even for whispered conversation.

Beau glanced down at me, noting the stiff way I held my body—just the same as the way he held himself. His lips parted slightly, and his eyes were full of warm invitations.

I smiled shyly, a strange course of electricity jolting over the surface of my skin when I saw him looking at me in that way. The desire in his eyes was overwhelming.

His breathing caught, and he glanced away quickly, toward the old TV screen.

This, somehow, made it worse. I didn't know what he was thinking, of course, but I was suddenly very sure that he _wanted_ to touch me. He felt this same precarious appeal, just as I did.

There was a strange power that seemed to hum between us, through the entire hour that passed. Like a continuous current, sparking the air between us. And every time he glanced down at me, with that same overpowering intensity in his eyes, it sparked even stronger.

Finally, Mrs. Banner flicked the lights back on, and I heard, and felt, the sigh of relief that exited Beau's mouth when she did so. He released his arms and stretched, flexing his fingers down his sides. It must have been difficult for him to sit so still for such an extended amount of time. It was easier for me—stillness came very naturally for a vampire.

I giggled at the potent relief on his face. "Well, that was… interesting."

"Umm," he said.

"Shall we?" I asked, rising to my feet. The residual energy still coursed through me, and I was wary of its remaining presence.

He made a slight face and got carefully to his feet, as if he was worried he was going to lose his balance.

I thought about offering him my hand, or gripping him underneath the elbow in assistance, but I didn't think it would be a very good idea at this juncture.

 _No mistakes_ , I reminded myself.

We were both quiet as I walked him to the Gym.

Surely, touching his skin once would cause no damage—as long as I was extraordinarily careful.

I could easily moderate the compression of my hand. It wasn't exactly difficult, as long as I was firmly in control of myself. My tactile sense was better developed than a human's; I could juggle a dozen crystal goblets without breaking any of them; I could stroke a soap bubble without popping it. As long as I was firmly in control...

Beau was very much like a soap bubble… Fragile, evanescent… Temporary.

Again, I agonized over the justification of my presence in his life. How long would I be able to reason with myself? How much longer could this go on? How much _time_ did I have? As transitory as his life was, I wondered how many chances I would get. Would I have another moment like this one? He would not always be within easy reach…

Beau stopped in front of the Gym doors and looked down at me. His eyes widened at the expression on my face, and a strange sound exited his throat—as if there had been words there, but he'd choked on them.

I saw my own reflection in the lake of his eyes, and witnessed my indecision for myself. I watched my face change, as the better side lost the argument.

My hand lifted, almost on its own accord, a very nearly unconscious action. As gently as if he were made of the thinnest crystal—silk covered in glass—I lifted my fingers to the edge of his jaw, stroking the warm, smooth skin there. It heated underneath my touch, and I could feel the smooth, gentle pulse of his blood underneath the membrane.

 _Enough,_ I demanded of myself, even as my hand wanted to curl around the back of his neck, to pull myself closer, against his chest… _Enough_.

It was more than difficult to pull my hand back, to halt the rampage of imaginings running through my mind—all the different ways I could touch him. To trace the perfect shape of his lips with the tip of my finger, to run my fingers through the thickness of his hair, to wind my arms around his back and hold myself against the broadness of his chest…

 _Enough!_

I forced myself to turn and walk away without looking back. However, as my gaze stayed fixed straight ahead, my mind lingered behind.

I caught McKayla Newton's thoughts—they were the most obvious—as she watched Beau stumble through the doors, and head for the changing rooms. He was oblivious to her, his eyes unfocused, splotches of red underneath his skin. Her eyes narrowed, and suddenly my name was mingled with insults instead her head; I couldn't help grinning in response.

My fingers were tingling, and I curled my hand into my chest, pulling my fingers into a fist and then releasing it. The prickling sensation did not fade.

No, I had not hurt him, but touching him had been a mistake.

It was as if the thirst, the burning which had resided merely in my throat, had now spread like painless wildfire through the rest of my body.

Would I be able to stop myself from touching him, again, the next time I was close to him?

I forced myself to commit the feeling, the expression on his face, the feel of his skin underneath my fingers, to memory. Because I would not allow myself to do it again. This would have to be the one instant I could carry with me. Because I could not be near him if I was going to allow myself to make more errors.

I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face and shoulders, and tried to clear my mind.

Eleanor caught up with me outside the English building.

"Hey," she said. _She's looking… Better. Strange… But better._ She contemplated for a fraction of a second. _Happy._

Did I look happy? Perhaps I did, despite the swirl of thought and emotion inside my head. "Hey, El."

 _Way to keep it on the down low, girl. Royal wants your head._

I sighed. "I'm so sorry. Are you mad at me?"

She thought about this. "No," she finally said, and her words echoed her thoughts, so I knew she was telling the truth, "I just wish you would have trusted me enough to tell me sooner."

"It wasn't about that," I interjected, "I just simply hadn't… Gotten around to it."

"I know," she said, forgiveness clear in her eyes. "It was only a matter of time, anyway." _With what Archie sees coming…_

Archie's visions were _not_ what I wanted to focus on right now. I clenched my teeth and stared straight ahead.

I searched for a distraction, catching sight of Becca Cheney heading into the Spanish building ahead of us. Ah—here was my opportunity to gift Allen Weber his unspoken reward.

I stopped walking and grasped Eleanor's wrist. "Hold on a second."

 _What is it?_

"I know I don't deserve it, but would you do me a favor anyway?"

Her thoughts were curious, but open.

Under my breath—and at a pace that would have made the words unintelligible to a human no matter how loud they'd been spoken—I explained to her what I wanted.

She stared at me blankly when I was done, her thoughts as vacant as her face.

"So?" I prompted, "Will you help me?"

"But… _Why?_ "

"C'mon, El," I complained, "Be a good big sister for once. _Please_."

 _For once?!_ "Who are you, and what have you done to my baby sister?"

I sighed in exasperation. "Aren't you always complaining that school is so boring? Come _on._ This'll liven it up a bit."

She sighed through her nose and appraised me through narrowed eyes. "Okay, _fine_. I'll do it."

I grinned at her. "Yes! Thank you!" In a movement too swift for anyone else to catch, I stretched up on my tiptoes and kissed her on the cheek.

Eleanor didn't need time to rehearse. I whispered her lines to her on our way into the classroom.

Becca was already in her seat behind mine, stacking together her homework to hand in. Eleanor and I both copied her actions. Mr. Goff paid no attention to the simmering din of the classroom. He wasn't concerned with starting the lesson just yet, still going over quiz answers from the day former.

"So," Eleanor said, her voice a little louder than necessary, "Did Allen Weber ask you out yet?"

The rustling of papers over my shoulder came to an abrupt standstill as Becca paused, suddenly paying very close attention to our conversation.

 _Allen? They're talking about Allen?_

Perfect. I had her attention.

"No," I said, forcing a fake note of dejection into my voice.

"Why not ask _him_ out? Are you chicken?" El improvised, cocking an eyebrow at me.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "No. I just think… I heard he's interested in someone else."

 _Edythe_ Cullen _wanted Allen to ask her out? I don't think… I like the idea of that. She's… Not right for him. Not safe._

I hadn't anticipated the magnanimity, the protective instinct. I'd been hoping for jealousy, but this worked, too.

"You're going to let _that_ stop you?" Eleanor snorted, improvising again, "Not up for the competition?"

I glared at her once more— _stop it_ —but made use of what she gave me. "I don't know," I mumbled, "I think he likes someone named Becca. I'm not going to be _that_ girl. There are other guys."

The reaction in the chair behind me was charged.

Eleanor chuckled. _Like a certain blue-eyed someone?_

But she composed herself quickly and went back to the script. "Like who?"

"I don't know. My lab partner said it was someone named Becca Cheney. I don't really know who she is."

I bit back my smile. Only the snobby Cullens could get away with not knowing everyone in the school.

Becca's thoughts were a confused snarl. _Me? Me… Over Edythe Cullen? But… Why? What does he see in me?_

"Edythe," Eleanor warned in a lower tone, rolling her eyes toward the girl in the desk behind me. "She's right behind you." She mouthed the words so obviously that the human would be able to read the words easily.

"Oh," I muttered.

I turned in my seat and glanced at the girl behind me. For a second, the dark brown eyes behind the spectacles looked frightened, but then she stiffened and squared her narrow shoulders, insulted by my clearly condescending appraisal. Her chin lifted half an inch and an angry flush rose up underneath her pretty golden-brown skin.

"Oops," I said primly, lifting a snobbish eyebrow at her, and turned back around.

 _Oh, she thinks she's so much better than me… But Allen likes_ me _—not_ her. _I'll show her…_

I smirked to myself. This couldn't have gone anymore perfectly.

"Didn't you say he took Erica to that Sadie Hawkins thing?" She injected her own snotty tone into the words.

"I think that was a group thing," I said, wanting to make sure Becca clearly understood this. "Allen's shy. If B—well, if a girl can't work up the nerve to ask him out, I don't think he'd ever ask her."

"You like shy guys," Eleanor said, back to improvisation. I glared a warning at her, but she ignored it. _Quiet guys. Guys like, hmm… I don't know, that kid Beau Swan?_

I grinned at her, a smile that was much too wide to be pegged a smile. "Precisely." Then I returned to the show. "Maybe Allen will take his interest somewhere else. Maybe I'll flirt with him—convince him to ask me to the prom."

 _Oh, no you won't,_ Becca thought, straightening in her seat. _So what if he's shorter than me? If he doesn't care, then neither do I. He's the cutest, smartest, nicest boy in this school… and he wants_ me.

I liked this girl. She seemed intelligent and well-meaning. Maybe even worthy of a boy like Allen.

Mr. Goff stood and greeted the class.

 _Okay, okay,_ she admitted, _I'll admit it—that was sorta fun._

I smiled to myself, delighted that I'd been able to shape one love story's happy ending. I was positive that Becca would follow through, and Allen would receive my anonymous gift. My debt was repaid.

How silly humans were, to let a six inch height differential confound their happiness.

I settled into my seat, in a better mood now. I prepared myself to be regaled—after all, Beau had so graciously pointed out, I had never seen him in action during Gym class before.

McKayla's thoughts were getting surprisingly effortless to pin-point now, something I wasn't entirely happy about, but what could I do? I resigned myself to listen to them.

I clued in just in time for her to offer to be his badminton partner. She did not, however, voice the other possible partnerings for them she had in mind. I ground my teeth and reminded myself that murdering the girl with her nail file was not a viable option.

" _You don't have to do this, you know."_

" _Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way."_

They both grinned at each other, chuckling nervously, and various incidents flashed through her mind—all involving Beau and some piece of sports equipment.

I sat forward in my seat, becoming more and more intrigued as each second passed.

McKayla took the lead to begin with, while Beau hung back at the rear of the court. He held his racket with some variance of trepidation, as if he were holding a weapon, and not a two pound piece of weightless metal and plastic. Then Coach Clapp noticed his lack of involvement, and ordered him to play.

 _Oh no,_ McKayla thought as Beau stepped reluctantly forward. He sighed and held his racket up at an awkward angle.

Jackson Ford stepped forward and sent the birdie sailing right at Beau's face, a smug twist to his thoughts.

McKayla saw Beau lunge toward it, his racket swinging in a wide arc that was miles off the target, and she jumped in to volley the birdie back, hoping to save it before it hit the floor.

I watched the course of Beau's swing with unease. Sure enough, it caught the tautly strung net, tangling momentarily so that the inanimate object tore the racket from Beau's hand. It sprung back at him, clipping him in the forehead before it twisted out to attack McKayla's arm with a hollow, metallic _thung_.

 _Ouch! Yikes, that's gonna leave a mark. Ow…_

Beau was rubbing his forehead. It proved difficult for me to stay where I was when I knew that he was hurt, but it didn't seem so serious, after all. I hesitated, half my weight out of my seat. If he insisted on continuing to play, I was going to have to come up with some sort of excuse to pull him out of class.

Coach Clapp laughed, amused. _"Sorry, McKayla!"_ she called, gamely. _Man alive, that kid's a_ menace! _I shouldn't release his wrath on the others but…_ Humor overtook her as she chuckled again.

She diverted her attention on purpose, so that behind her turned back, Beau could return to his former spectator role.

 _Ow, that really hurts,_ McKayla griped again, rubbing her shoulder.

" _Are you okay?"_ Beau asked her, sounding absolutely mortified.

" _Yeah, are you?" Gosh, I don't want to sound like a little girl but—that hurts! I think I'm bleeding._

" _I'm fine."_

Mm. Of course he was.

McKayla swung her arm in a circle, wincing.

" _I'll just… hang out over here,"_ Beau was saying, embarrassment and guilt on his face, rather than pain. Maybe McKayla had taken the brunt of the incident. I certainly _hoped_ that was the case. Either way, he wasn't playing anymore, and that was fine by me.

I had to disguise my laugh as fake coughing.

 _What's so funny?_ Eleanor inquired, displeased by being left out of the joke.

"Tell you later," I whispered.

Beau did not try his hand again, and Coach Clapp ignored him and let McKayla handle the game on her own.

I flew through the quiz at the end of the hour, and Mr. Goff let me leave early. I was listening intently to McKayla's thoughts as I crossed campus toward the Gym. She had decided to confront Beau about me.

 _Jeremy seemed pretty sure that they were dating. Why did he have to pick her? What's so special about Edythe Cullen? I mean, sure, she's pretty—if you're into that weird, alien sort of pretty. I bet I'm much more interesting than she is…_

I was stumped, too—I didn't know why he'd chosen me.

" _So."_

" _So?"_

" _You and Edythe Cullen, huh?" You and the Black Widow._ Apparently, she hadn't come up with the nickname on her own. _I mean, I guess if that appeals to you… I bet it's 'cause she has money…_

" _Yeah, me and Edythe Cullen,"_ he repeated.

 _Crap. He didn't deny it. That means it's probably true… Double crap!_

" _I don't like it,"_ she muttered.

" _Well, you don't actually have to."_

 _Why can't he see what a circus sideshow she is? Like they all are. The way she stares at him… Like he's her little pet or something. "So she just snaps her fingers and you heel?"_

My teeth clenched together at the degrading assumption.

" _Guess so."_

 _What_ ever _. It's his life… I mean, I'll take him back if he comes crawling back after that creepy spider takes a bite out of him, but still…_

She stormed off, fuming with jealousy.

I leaned against the outside wall of the Gym and attempted to regain some control over myself.

McKayla saw Beau as this sort of whipped puppy, and me, his relentless, unfeeling master. How could she assume I had that much power over him—that _kind_ of influence over him? This was _his_ choice, I was making sure of that. Who else saw our relationship in this light? Did Beau? I hoped not, though he'd been quick to agree to McKayla's deduction.

And then, suddenly, my mood was soaring, because Beau had just walked out of the building. His eyes were troubled, but when he saw me, his face broke into the most adorable, goofiest grin I had ever seen.

"Hi."

I could not resist the urge to answer that smile with one of my own. That, and I was remembering the Gym incident. "Hello. How was Gym?"

I saw the suspicion swim into his eyes. "Fine?"

"Really?" I lifted my eyebrows. "How's your head?"

Now his eyes narrowed as he stared down at me. "You didn't." His tone was low and accusatory, but he wasn't _really_ mad.

 _Oh, I most certainly did._

Without another word, I spun on my heel and started walking toward the parking lot. He fell into step with me without asking any questions.

"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym—it made me curious," I told him as we walked.

"Great," he groaned, "Fantastic. Well, sorry about that. I don't mind walking home if you don't want to be seen with me."

I laughed. How could someone be so charming when they were mortified? "It was very entertaining."

And then a deep shadow drifted in front of my bright sun. McKayla's thoughts were undeniably loud as she exited the Gym.

 _I_ hate _her. I wish she would just… Get lost. Pitch that shiny car_ and _herself right off a_ cliff. _Why can't she just leave him alone? Go manipulate someone else with her evil bitchy-ness._

"Though I wouldn't have minded if you'd hit that girl just a little harder."

"What?" he said.

I glanced over my shoulder, finding McKayla's retreating shiny blonde head in the crowd.

"It's been a while since someone besides family thought those kinds of words about me. I don't think I like it." Okay, so Royal had never wished me _dead_ , nevertheless…

Beau's eyes were still on McKayla's retreating back, and I saw the sudden anxiety on his face.

I laughed to hide my irritation—or, rather, it was _beyond_ mere irritation—at the girl. "Don't worry," I assured him, "I wouldn't hurt your friend. If I did, who else would agree to be your badminton partner?"

"What kinds of words has your family been thinking about you?"

I shook my head at him. "It's not fair to judge people on their thoughts. Those are supposed to be private. It's actions that count." Sometimes I had to work very hard to remember this—regarding Royal, in particular.

"I don't know," Beau disagreed, "If you know someone can hear, isn't that the same thing as saying it out loud?"

"Easy for you to say," I goaded, grinning. "Controlling your thoughts is very difficult. When Royal and I butt heads, I think much worse things about him, and I _do_ say those words out loud." I laughed again, thinking of some of my more… Creative inventions.

He came to a sudden halt when he noticed the crowd of kids—mostly male—jostling around the car. Not mine, however.

 _I wonder how fast they've gone in this thing..._

 _Look at the SMG shift paddles. I've never seen those outside of a magazine... Nice side grills..._

 _Sure wish I had sixty thousand dollars lying around..._

This was exactly why it was better for Royal to use his car _out_ of town.

I began to wind my way through the deep crowds, careful not to touch anybody. After a moment of hesitation, Beau followed suit, rushing to get my door.

"Ostentatious," I muttered as I slipped past him and into my seat.

"What kind of car is that?" he wondered when he was in, too.

"An M3." I edged my way out of the parking spot, careful not to hit anyone.

"Um, I don't speak _Car and Driver_."

I had to lock eyes with a few of the boys who didn't want to move out of my way. A half-second of eye contact solved that issue quickly. "It's a BMW."

"Okay, I know that one."

I turned left out of the parking lot, and then we were alone. Beau was silent for a beat.

"Is it later yet?" he asked then, bringing to mind our unfinished conversation from lunch.

I frowned. "I suppose it is."

I focused on the road ahead, as if I actually needed to, while I thought through how to explain… without making my violent animosity too evident; without frightening him… Or was it wrong—to hide my wickedness?

I pulled up behind Beau's truck and put the car in park.

He was looking out the window when I turned my eyes on him, and I waited until he looked at me to explain.

"And you want to know why you can't see me hunt?"

"Yes," he requested, "And why you seemed so… mad when I asked."

This intrigued me, and I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise. "Did I frighten you?" I was certain of his coming answer.

"Did you want to?"

That wasn't a no… "Maybe I did."

"Okay then, sure, I was terrified."

I tried not to smile and failed, shaking my head. "I apologize for reacting like that. It was just the thought of you being near… while we hunted." My jaw closed together like a vice.

"That would be bad?"

The mental image was too overwhelming, and I shied away from it… Beau, alone and so vulnerable in the forest's empty darkness; me, governed completely by my senses, totally out of control…

"Extremely."

"Because…?" he prodded.

I took in a lungful of air—air that was saturated with his essence, and I focused on that for a moment, on the burn, proving my authority over it. I would _never_ allow it to control me again. I _would_ keep him safe from my monstrosity. I stared at the gathering clouds, wishing my will alone could be enough, wishing it would make any difference if I crossed his scent while hunting.

"When we hunt… We give ourselves over to our senses… govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" I shook my head while the anguish crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I heard the spike in his heartbeat, and I turned to look at him. Beau's face was expressionless—he wore a mask again.

As I stared into his eyes, the atmosphere changed—taking on that strange, electric impulse it had in the darkened Biology room. I fought the sudden urge to lean across the console so that I could be closer to him, to grip him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him to me…

Beau's pupils dilated, though the lighting had not changed.

I heard my breath accelerate. The current jumped back and forth between us again, and for a singular moment, my urge to touch him was stronger than my desire for his blood.

The throbbing energy made it feel like I was human again, as if I had a pulse. I struggled against the warring desires, but I could not stop imagining it—how it might feel to have his warm, soft lips pressed to mine… I grappled for the strength it would take to succeed at that, to put my mouth so close to his skin.

He pulled in a loud breath, breaking the silence, and I closed my eyes, pulling into myself, in an attempt to break the spell.

I could not make any more mistakes.

"Beau, I think you should go inside now." I stared at the clouds again, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

There was nothing I wanted more in this moment to be human again. I would stand in fire for a century— _two_ —if that was what it took.

Obediently, he pushed his door open and swung his long body out of the car, hiking his bag over his shoulder.

I wondered, briefly, if it hurt him to leave as much as it hurt me to watch him go. The only thing that pacified me was that I knew I would see him soon—sooner than he would see me. I smiled at that, and then rolled the window down, leaning across the console so he could see my face. I could speak to him safely, now that the overwhelming temptation of his body was outside my car.

"Oh, Beau?"

He turned, curious.

 _Still_ curious, though I'd answered so many of his questions today. And my curiosity had been left unsatisfied. I'd gleaned so little of him, and I found that unfair.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

I smiled at the prospect. Tomorrow, when we were in a public place, surrounded by witnesses, I would get my answers. "Ask the questions."

I forced myself to turn away, put the gearshift in drive, and accelerate down the street. I sighed, feeling like I was always either running full-speed toward Beau, or away from him. There was no in-between, no middle ground, and if I were going to ensure any peace at all, I would have to find a solution.

…

It was well after midnight when I eased myself through the small opening of Beau's bedroom window.

I had known it a habit wise to curb, but I was somehow unable to stop it. It made me anxious to be away from him, and no matter how much I told myself he was safe during the day, I always found myself here, night after night.

Maybe it wasn't solely due to my anxiety for his safety—maybe it was simply because I wanted to be close to him. As irresponsible and reckless as my specter-ish nightly visits were, I could not find the self-control to stop them.

In the small bed across the room, Beau did not sleep peacefully. He lay on his stomach, one arm over his head, the other hanging over the side of the bed. The sheets and duvet were curled and snared around various limbs, and his hair was surprisingly unkempt. I found my lips unconsciously curling into a smile at the sight of it. Messy haired Beau was delectable.

I wanted to go to him, and correct the twisted sheets, to spread them evenly over his body, but then he rolled onto his back, face turning toward me with such conviction, I swore he could tell I was there.

I went motionless, and forced myself to think of his reaction, if he found me standing here in the middle of his bedroom in the dead of night. What would he think?

He moaned softly, and the soft sound stirred up unfamiliar reactions in me. My stomach, once more, did the strange twisting butterfly motion.

"Edythe," he breathed, and as my name fell from his lips, that familiar energy encased me. My fingers tingled, and my stomach felt suddenly heavy with sensation. The surface of my skin felt alive with tension.

I had known it would be an especial risk coming here tonight, after the events of yesterday had taken place, but I could not resist the magnetic pull this sleeping boy held for me.

I wanted to kneel by his bed, and smooth down his messy hair. I wanted to rest my head against his chest and listen to the smooth rhythms of his lungs and heart. In the most basic way, I wanted to be _near_ him. To have him hold me and never let go.

But that would be too risky. I forced myself into the rocking chair in the corner and watched from there, feeling marginally safer.

I drew a deep, searing breath in through my nose. As always, Beau's room was saturated with his scent, humid and warm. Automatically, I felt my muscles coil in on themselves, felt the extra moisture of flowing venom in my mouth. I closed my eyes and inhaled again, meditating on my vow not to hurt the boy, meditating on the promise I had made to keep him safe. I did this again, and again until my body relaxed, just by a minuscule measure. But it was progress. I reminded myself again of the dominion I had over my thirst for his blood. I _would_ control this.

If I wanted Saturday to end well, I _had_ to.

…

When dawn began to push at the horizon, I left Beau's room. As I ran back to my home to change my clothes and retrieve my car, I thought over the night. It had only been in the weakest hours of the morning that Beau had fallen into a more peaceful sleep.

He'd tossed and turned most of the night. He had spoken my name several times, which pleased me, and once, he'd murmured, 'You're beautiful' with such adoration it would have made me blush if I'd been human.

I drove into town and crawled through neighborhood streets aimlessly while awaiting Chief Swan's departure. I was filled with new energy this morning, an almost buoyant attitude.

Today was _my_ day to ask the questions, and I would be able to fulfill the desires I had kept conserved for so long. I would find out more about Beau, what made up his character, what had formed and molded him to be the way he was today. I wondered about his mother, and based on the qualities Beau had already given me, what kind of person she was.

Charlie and Renee, I already knew, were two of the most wonderful people in the world, to have conceived and raised a young man as brilliant as Beau Swan.

I began cataloguing questions for him, organizing them into an easy to follow list, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things I had yet to discover about him. There were not enough hours in the day to unearth all the things I wanted to know.

Finally, Chief Swan headed off for his workday. I waited until he drove around the corner, and then parked my car in his spot in the driveway. I listened to the sounds inside the house: Running water, the zip of a bag, the trampling of feet down the stairs—if I was hearing right, he was skipping them three at a time, and I frowned disapprovingly. I didn't want him to hurt himself.

Then he was out the door and walking over to me. He paused for just a second before pulling open the passenger door and climbing inside.

"Good morning. How are you today?" I greeted him warmly. I noted the bags underneath his eyes, and deduced that he had not slept deeply enough last night.

"Good, thank you."

"You look tired." The crescents beneath his eyes were shaded in purple.

"I couldn't sleep," he admitted.

I giggled. "Neither could I."

I turned the key in the ignition, and we were off.

"I guess that's right. I probably did get more sleep than you."

"I would wager you did." I wondered what he had dreamed of, what had spurred him to speak my name the five times that he did. What had he meant by those words 'You're beautiful'? Who had he been speaking to in his nocturnal realms? I so desired that I was the object of those dreams…

"So what did you do last night?"

I glanced sideways at him. Did he suspect the nature of my nocturnal trespassings? Was I not as stealthy as I thought I was? Eleanor would surely find the joke in that. Regardless, I intended to stand my ground. Today was _my_ day.

I laughed. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

"Oh, that's right." His forehead creased with worry. "What do you want to know?" Why was he wary?

I consulted the first query on my list. "What's your favorite color?"

He shrugged, non-committal. "It changes."

So he was going to be difficult. "What is it today?" I prodded.

"Um, probably… gold, I guess."

Gold. That had been unexpected. I had put my money on red or blue… But he'd chosen a jewel color. The color of precious treasure, the color of royalty, the color of… My eyes, when I was fed… Was I putting too much hope in this simple answer of his?

"Is there anything material behind your choice, or is it random?"

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "It's the color of your eyes today. If you asked me in a week, I'd probably say black."

Ah. So I had been right in my wonderings. Equal amounts of pleasure and disapproval filled me. But more pleasure than anything else. Maybe it _had_ been me he'd been calling beautiful in his sleep last night…

I moved on. "What music is in your CD player right now?"

He had to mull this over for a second. "Linkin Park's newest album. Uh… _Meteora_."

I grinned at the impossible circumstance. Reaching forward, I pressed the release for the hatch underneath the CD player and selected the same CD he'd just named.

"Debussy to this?"

He laughed. "Well, look at that."

Again, I walked Beau to his first class, resolute on leaving him untouched. My fingers tingled where I had touched him yesterday, aching to do it again, but I clenched my fist inside my pocket, managing to restrain myself. No more errors on my part. I would not allow them to happen.

To distract myself from the strange physical yearning, I continued down my list of questions between classes and all through the lunch hour. Nothing was too insignificant about Beau Swan's life. I wanted to know every detail; I hung on every word. Every bit of it enthralled me. His favorite movies, and the ones he hated. The places he'd travelled, and the ones he had yet to visit. The former on that was appallingly small, and I entertained the idea of taking him some of the places he named before I quickly extinguished that fire. I couldn't think that far ahead. We hardly knew if we had anything past Saturday… I quashed that fear, too.

I asked him about his favorite books, what he'd learned from them, how he thought they'd shaped his character. Which were his favorites. I was not surprised to hear that _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea_ was his most-read title.

Finally, the first bell after the lunch hour sounded.

Beau exhaled heavily, and I wondered what that was about. But I didn't have to ask, for he explained right away.

"There's one question you haven't asked me yet."

"More than one, actually," I corrected—I wasn't halfway through my list. "But which specific one are you looking for?"

"The most embarrassing thing I've ever done."

I grinned in anticipatory amusement. "Is it a spectacular story?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said, confusing me, "I'll tell you in five minutes."

Then he shoved away from the table. I followed his movements, curious and intrigued. What was going on? Where was he going? I felt a brief flicker of disappointment when he turned his back on me, but then my mouth fell open in genuine shock when I saw the target of his trajectory.

Jeremy noticed Beau's approach first. They were all just getting up, preparing to go to their next classes. His eyes narrowed immediately, and his thoughts were suspicious.

 _What does he want?_ Then his eyes flashed over to me, where I was still sitting at our table, rapt with fascination, _Why isn't his new_ girlfriend _with him?_

"Taylor, can I have a minute?" Beau asked. His voice rose easily above the din, and I thought this was on purpose. His shoulders were set in an odd, unnatural way, his chest puffed out.

I was going insane with curiosity. There hadn't been a moment up until now that I had wondered what was going on in Beau's head more.

Taylor was standing in the middle of the crowd, and she glanced up, thrown.

 _Did he say my name? Ohmigod, is he actually going to_ ask _me to prom?_

 _Back off, dude._ Logan Mallory's thoughts were acidic in nature. _What? Edythe Cullen not enough? You have to have what's mine, too?_

I didn't like the propietal nature to his thoughts.

"Sure, Beau," Taylor said. She was beginning to doubt Beau's intentions when she caught that metallic glint of hard emotion in his eyes.

 _Crap. Is he_ mad _at me?_ She wobbled mentally, unsure. This was a change for Taylor. Usually, she was much more confident than this.

"Look," Beau said now, his voice still loud. Was he speaking at this volume for my benefit? Did he think I wouldn't be able to hear if he spoke in normal volume and dialect? "I can't do this anymore."

All at once, the grouping of them fell absolutely quiet. The majority of the group's minds were stunned blank.

 _He couldn't have done this in private?_ McKayla thought, offended and embarrassed for her friend.

Taylor's mind was still blank with shock. "What?"

"I'm tired of being a pawn in your game, Taylor. Do you even realize that I have feelings of my own? And all I can do is watch while you use me to make someone else jealous." Beau glanced pointedly at Logan, whose mind went up in flames with outraged humiliation. What was this, some sort of monologue? He _had_ to have stolen this from some movie or a TV show. I sat glued to my seat with a strange mix of horrified, impressed, and amused amazement. "You don't care if you break my heart in the process." Yes, he had definitely stolen this from somewhere. I was willing to bet soap opera. "Is it being beautiful that's made you so cruel?"

Taylor's responding thoughts were muddled and incoherent—but there was a hint of pleasure. _He thinks I'm beautiful?_ She stared at Beau wide-eyed, with her mouth open.

"I'm not going to play anymore," Beau said in a hard voice, "This whole prom charade? I'm out. Go with the person you really want to be with." His eyes lingered a little longer on Logan this time.

And then he spun on his heel with surprising grace, taking long, sure strides until he crashed through the cafeteria doors.

I grabbed my bag and was at his side in a heartbeat.

"That was truly spectacular."

His heart was pounding like a freight train, and his ears were crimson with the blood that had rushed there. He drew in a deep breath. "Maybe a little over the top. Did it work?"

"Like a charm," I assured him, "Taylor's feeling quite the femme fatale, and she's not even sure why. If Logan doesn't ask her to prom by Monday, I'll be surprised."

"Good."

"And now back to you…"

I had nearly forgotten about Mrs. Banner's convenient lack of a lesson plan, I was so distracted with Beau's interview.

When she dragged the decrypt TV stand into the room again, I tensed. I knew what would happen when she turned the lights out, and in an effort to dull the strange magnetic pull, I put a little more distance in between my chair and Beau's, just before the lights clicked off.

The distance did not help. As soon as the lights were out, my senses rocketed into high gear, and that pulsing, electric life engulfed me. Even from this distance, I could practically feel each one of Beau's heartbeats press against my frame, and the urge to touch him once more was inescapable.

I locked down my muscles, forcing myself to stay where I was, no matter how much I desired to shift my chair closer to his. And then, just as I had the thought, _he_ shifted, scooting his chair closer to mine. He leaned in slow, measured movements to the side until his arm came into contact with my shoulder.

I couldn't move. The humming tingle of energy jolted like a very pleasant electric shock through my body, curling up in my stomach, leaving it aching in a very strange way. I wanted to press closer, curl myself up against his chest and loop my arms around waist. I wanted to feel the living pulse of his body against mine, wanted to contour my shape to the forgiving width of his chest…

He broke our contact then, slumping forward until his chin was resting on his folded arms on top of the table. I did not miss his long fingers curl around the edge of the table, gripping so hard all the blood drained away from his knuckles.

Perhaps he was faring better than me, but not by much.

That small bit of contact had my skin glowing with vitality, and there was a strange vibration in my chest. Instincts, strange impulses that I had never before encountered, attempted to jostle their way into my mind, to override my body.

I realized how easy it would be to submit to these urges, to allow them to govern my body. But I wondered what connection it held to my hunting instinct—they both felt so similar. This felt… different, less anchored to any specific purpose, and it frightened me. I did not let my mind wander in that strange, impulsive direction for even an instant, paralyzed by the harm I might do to him if I succumbed to it.

When the hour had finished and the lights went back up, Beau sighed, stretching much the same way as he had done yesterday. When he flexed his fingers, the strained cartilage between his knuckles creaked and popped.

We walked, silent, to the Gym together, and as much as I had promised myself I would make no more errors, the pull inside me demanded to be recognized. I wasn't doing anything wrong by touching him in this way, was I? As long as I didn't allow it to go beyond casual caresses, I would justify my actions.

So I reached up, this time to stroke the entire length of his face, from temple to chin, with the back of my hand. As I did so, I memorized the feel of his skin, the warmth of the pure vitality pumping underneath. But more than that, the reaction in his eyes as he gazed down at me.

When I turned away, I could have sworn I saw his hand twitch after me.

I walked to Spanish as quickly as was acceptable, berating myself for my slip-up. I struggled toward some sort of middle ground. I tried to appease both sides of my consciousness by reasoning that Beau had _wanted_ the physical contact. After all, he had been the one to inch closer and rest his arm to my shoulder. He had craved it, and how could I deny giving him anything he wanted?

McKayla was even surlier toward Beau today. She was affronted for her friend, and the humiliation she had assumed had ensued. Little did she know, Taylor was rather glowy underneath the headline Beau had created for her. McKayla's bad mood was needless, and I found myself frowning at the way she avoided him all through class.

It displeased me, the way she was treating him. For one instant, I wondered if I preferred her over-friendliness in paradox to this aloof coolness, but then decided that I didn't.

But if she hurt him in any way… She would have me to answer to.

I strode toward the Gym quickly when Spanish was over. Eleanor cast a glance at me, eyes on my retreating back.

 _Poor girl, she's got it bad._

So maybe I did. If this newfound joy and energy and contentedness were bad, I would take it.

When Beau walked out of Gym and saw me, he smiled so wide it lit up his entire face. My answering grin was automatic.

I didn't waste anytime at all launching back into my questions. These ones I had saved for the end of the day, knowing he wouldn't be pressed for time trying to answer them. I knew they would require more reflection on his part.

I had heard him talk about home and his mother more than once in his sleep, and I wanted to know about that. I wanted to discover more about the relationship between him and his mother—as unusual as it was sweet. The way Beau treated his mother, the way he perceived her, would have melted my heart if I'd had one. He was so sweet when he talked about her, and I was reminded again of just how selfless and kind he truly was. I asked him about home, knowing he had hailed from Phoenix, but not knowing much about the city or the state of Arizona for obvious reasons.

I was surprised when the words poured freely from him. I had assumed this topic would be difficult for him to speak of, but this seemed a sort of comfort zone to him, and I sat in rapture, listening to him talk in the quietness of my car for hours. I listened to him attempt to describe the scent of creosote, and the sound of cicadas in summer. He detailed the large, feathery palm trees, the wide expanse of clear, azure sky—this was the one thing I found familiarity in, for that ever-present sky was always here, despite the constant cloud coverage. It was in his eyes, always.

"Are you finished?" Beau inquired when he had finished detailing his old room in Phoenix. I had stopped asking questions to tune in on Charlie's incoming mental voice. He was hungry, his thoughts filled with anticipation, and there was something else—some distraction I couldn't quite decode.

"Not even close," I said now, "But your father will be home soon."

In the time we'd sat together like this, in front of Charlie's house, in the small space of my car, I had almost been able to convince myself that I could be just as human as he was. I had allowed myself to become enmeshed in his stories, had allowed myself to imagine what it would be like, if the impossible were possible. What it would be like to walk down a dirt road somewhere, craggy red cliffs on either side of us, to be able to hold his hand without worrying about the chill of my skin, or how easily I could crush every bone in his hand if I allowed my attention to wander for even a moment. I had allowed myself to imagine what the dry, blazing Arizona sun might feel like on my hair, my skin… What Beau's eyes might look like in the sunshine…

What I wouldn't give, I thought again, to be human. To be able to give him all the things I wanted more than _anything_ to give him.

"How late is it?" he asked, seeming surprised as he glanced at the clock on the dash. He had been oblivious to the slow descent of the sun. Now it hid behind hazy lilac clouds, steadily sinking.

His words broke me from my impossible daydream. "It's twilight." I stared at the hazy, purple clouds a moment longer and then turned my eyes on Beau. He had been staring at me, but he did not look away now. "It's the safest time of day for us," I said in response to the unspoken question in his eyes, "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way… the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" I smiled wistfully, hoping it would dull the seriousness of my words.

"I _like_ the night. Without the dark, you'd never see the stars." He frowned. "Not that you see them here much."

Had he realized I'd been speaking in soliloquy? Did I hide the ache of what I could never have well enough?

I laughed, choosing to focus on his words. I appreciated his high regard for darkness, at any rate. "Charlie will be here in a few minutes," I warned him, "So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday…" I watched his face hopefully for a moment, knowing what his response would be, but wishing he'd say yes anyway. It felt safer to have witnesses, to have someone know that I'd taken him. For a brief instant, I thought about detaining Beau, forcing him to have that very crucial conversation with his father. But I wouldn't. It was, after all, his choice.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said. He scooped his books up, moving stiffly—I remembered that it was uncomfortable for humans to sit still for so long, and chided myself for being so thoughtless. "So is it my turn tomorrow then?"

"Certainly not!" I feigned indignation. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"What more is there?"

I grinned. "You'll find out tomorrow."

For a minute, he just stared at me, and I wondered what I'd done wrong. His heart stuttered unevenly, his breathing accelerating, and I mused, for just one moment… Hypnotism by dimples? Could it be?

His heart was pounding inside his chest, his breaths coming in low, shallow gasps. Though my reflexes were much quicker than his, I was distracted by the fire in his eyes, and didn't notice until it was nearly too late.

His scent engulfed me as his hand came up, as if to cradle my profile, and his face inclined toward me.

I jerked away, defying the sinister thoughts that begged me to let the boy come closer, that would have liked me to run my nose up the column of his neck.

"Sorr—"

" _Mom, seriously,_ please _don't embarrass me in front of Beau. I'm begging you."_

" _What? You mean, don't tell him you're gaga for him?"_

"Please _do not say that again."_

" _What? Gaga? Don't tell Beau my sweet little Julie is completely gaga over him?"_

"Mom _!"_

My head whipped forward toward the sound of the approaching voices, discernable beneath the rattle of an old Sedan engine.

This was the _last_ thing we needed right now. _Julie Black_ and her mother. Emily Black's descendants. Bonnie Black was an elder of the tribe, and she was very much aware of who and what I was. She could not be here, I could not be in the same place as her. It breached everything the treaty stood for, and I hated to do it, but I knew I would have to leave.

"Oh no."

"What's wrong?" Beau demanded, confused.

"Another complication."

I reached over to push his door open, hoping to urge him from the car faster. Beau's heart rate accelerated into high speed, and I leaned back again, as far away from his overwhelming heat and fragrance as I could.

"Hurry."

The car approached, pulling up to the curb facing us, its headlights wheeling across the hood of my car and lighting up Beau's pale face. But I only saw that out of my periphery. I glared straight ahead, into the face of the woman in the passenger seat. Bonnie Black. Her skin was worn and weathered, sagging down around her face. Her eyes were blackest black, and they were fixed somewhere near my face. She was still waiting for her eyes to focus past the glare of my headlights.

 _What's this? Beau's got a new friend…?_

"No!" she gasped out loud, horror struck, when she saw me clearly, "How _dare_ she come here! How _dare_ they—!"

"Mom!" the younger one protested, laying a hand on her mother's suddenly trembling hand. She was frightened by the palpable outrage her mother was abruptly exuding. "What is it?"

Beau pulled his hood up against the lashing rain, glancing back and forth between me and the black car.

But I didn't look at him. I glared with fierce defiance at the woman in the sedan, who was still just as angry with me as I was with her. She was worried for Beau's and Charlie's _safety,_ worried about their _well-being_. But my reaction to their closeness was more than the old feud between families. There was something instinctual about seeing them here, something that woke a deeper reflex inside my mind.

I pulled out and sped away down the street, my tires squealing in protest against my sudden acceleration.

…

 **A/N:** Phew! So I was totally under the impression, for some odd reason, that I had one more chapter before I was left on my own—but alas, I stumbled over the cliff and into nothingness unexpectedly. Can you tell where SM's lovely guidance left off, and I was left to swim on my own? This is where I need your feedback more than ever, guys and gals! I want to know if I'm doing this justice! See ya next time! xo


	12. Balancing

**A/N:** So, I suppose I'll just put this out here—you _may_ want to adjust your expectations from here on out. Updates will be a tad slower, as I'm working totally on my own now. This chapter took me almost a week to write—luckily, I'm still a few chapters ahead of where you guys are at—just trying to piece together the timeline of things. I've got a pretty good idea of Edythe's psychology now; it's just making sure everything stays true to cannon (in regards to chronology and such).

Please let me know what you think, guys; and don't be afraid to give me some constructive criticism if you so see fit. As I said before, I want to make sure everything is accurate and up to par.

Enjoy this one, readers!

(P.S. Edythe's playlist is up, over at 8tracks! - /wintersunshine/you-pull-me-in-like-the-moon-pulls-on-the-tide

…

Defiant fury pulled me down Forks' damp streets, past the town's limits and halfway home before I pulled the car onto the shoulder, the tires squealing sharply in protest at my sharp deceleration.

The instinct that had me fleeing was abruptly vacant, and I took a moment to collect myself.

It would be far better to know what Bonnie Black had to say to Charlie and Beau, rather than not. I put the car in drive, swung around, and raced back into town. I parked by a curb a few streets down, staring at the pits and divots in my windshield. The rain sprinkled down, running rivers across the glass, slipping in and out of the shallow ruts.

I was surprised to find how loud Julie Black's thoughts were, more authoritative in tone than I would have thought for a girl her age.

This was the young girl who had unknowingly altered Beau's life—had revealed our secret to him. She hadn't done it on purpose, thinking the legends were just so—made up stories. Regardless, she had breached the treaty. Apparently Beau's conning had more of an effect than he had projected. Julie's thoughts were filled with infatuation.

 _"Sorry,"_ Beau was saying now, _"I haven't seen any… what was it you were looking for?"_

Julie's thoughts were filled with humor at his lack of knowledge. She didn't hold it against him—in fact, she found it charming. _"Master cylinder,"_ she clarified. _"Is something wrong with the truck?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Oh. I just wondered because you weren't driving it."_

She was stalling; it was obvious.

 _"I got a ride with a friend,"_ Beau muttered. _Friend_. I thought about that for a minute. Did he not want to tell this Julie about me? Unreasonable envy flared.

 _"Nice ride."_ The compliment was genuine, probably because she didn't know who I was yet. That, or she simply didn't hold the old legends against me. _"I didn't recognize the driver, though. I thought I knew most of the kids around here."_

Beau didn't answer.

 _"My mom seemed to know her from somewhere,"_ she hinted. She was more than just transitorily interested. She wanted to know if we were dating—if her interests were being returned or not.

 _"Jules, could you hand me some plates? They're in the cupboard over the sink."_

He was stalling, I knew this. Julie persisted.

 _"Sure… So who was it?"_

Beau sighed, and it sounded a lot like resignation. Why? Did he not want to tell people about me? _"Edythe Cullen,"_ he admitted.

Julie Black laughed, unbothered. _"Guess that explains it, then."_ Suddenly, her mother's reaction was clear to her. _She_ didn't believe in the legends, but her mother did—with great conviction. _"I wondered why my mom was acting so strange."_

 _"That's right. She doesn't like the Cullens."_ Did Julie catch on to the obvious way Beau tried to act oblivious?

 _"Superstitious old bat…"_

 _"You don't think she'd say anything to Charlie?"_ Beau had dropped the volume of his voice.

Julie wondered about this, about why Beau would want to keep a girl a secret from his father. She deliberated for a minute over the fact that we might be serious or not. _"I doubt it,"_ she finally said. _"I think Charlie chewed her out pretty good last time. They haven't spoken much since—tonight is sort of a reunion, I think. I don't think she'd bring it up again."_

 _"Oh."_ Beau feigned indifference. Was it as obvious to her as it was to me?

Beau seemed entirely uncomfortable with the Blacks in his home, and I wondered about that. Was it because he thought she would say something to Charlie, which I knew would never happen? This woman would never say anything in a million years—she was not prepared to break the sacrilegious pact of the treaty.

Or was it because Beau simply didn't want anyone knowing about me? It seemed, out of the two options, that this was more likely, despite the conjectures I'd made about our relationship today.

Metaphorical heart sinking, I put the car in drive and headed home—I had gleaned enough information for one night.

…

Archie was waiting for me when I drove up, perched atop the porch railing, head tipped back against the wooden post. He had his eyes shut, and if I hadn't known better, I would have assumed he was sleeping.

"Hey," he said when I got out of the car, without opening his eyes, "I'm sixty… eight percent sure that Beau won't die on Saturday."

"Great news," I intoned, shutting the car door behind me.

He opened his eyes and focused on my face. "Wanna go for a walk?"

"Sure."

We raced around back of the house, down the sloping lawn, and launched ourselves into the air to leap across the river. Once we'd landed on the other side, we slowed to a walk, side by side.

 _What's got your face in such a knot?_ Archie wanted to know as we walked through the foliage.

I sighed, avoiding a gnarled tree root deftly, and thought of Beau. "Lousy mood."

"Oh ho," he chuckled, giving me a playful shove, "What else is new?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Archie leaped, catching a low-hanging branch, and executed a perfect gymnast's Tkatchev. He landed in a crouch and grinned boastfully at me.

I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head. "Do you want to hear the story or not? Quit jerking around."

Archie laughed, and then loped back to my side and threw an arm around my shoulders. "Okay, I'm sorry. Yes—I would like to hear the story."

"It was before you and Jess joined us. That was when the treaty was signed, between Carine and Emily Black—the former chief of the Quileutes. Julie Black and her mother were at Charlie's tonight. Julie's mother, Bonnie, is her granddaughter. She wants to warn Beau's father about my influence."

Archie appraised me with serious eyes for a long moment.

"She can't say anything about the treaty," I reminded myself, shaking my head, "But that might not stop her from warning him that I might not be… Good for him."

 _That won't stop you,_ he thought quietly.

My face jerked up to his, and I could feel the fire in my glare. "Won't it?" I snapped, "Don't I have more strength than that? Or is it already a foregone conclusion?"

Archie didn't answer, his mind faraway. He was seeing the two options—the two that hadn't faded, all through the course of my shifting and changing decisions.

 _The inevitable is becoming clearer,_ he mused.

"No." The word slipped from between my clenched teeth. "I will not destroy his soul. I couldn't live with myself…"

Archie sighed, seeing that his argument would get him nowhere. He turned back, toward the way we'd come. _You could,_ he thought.

…

Nighttime had always been the hardest for me.

In the beginning, it had been only Carine and I. We would spend the night in friendly companionship, reading, honing our skills, talking, getting to know one another. She had spent so long being alone—even in her three-hundred-plus years of vampirism, she had never felt well-placed in this world—and my creation had been an act of desperate loneliness. She taught me so many things about what it meant to be 'good', about love, and kindness and unending devotion. The constance between us grew quickly—almost instantaneous in its conception. I saw Carine as a mother immediately, and I, her daughter. Our relationship was an inexplicable and tender faith-hood, the bonds more reinforced than the purest of titanium.

And then Earnest joined us, and I didn't regret the addition to the family in any way, but once they coupled together, I was left on my own most nights, the eternal third wheel. How it would be as the rest of our family members joined—Royal next, and then Eleanor, two years later. After that, Jess and Archie came to us, led by his vision of the seven of us—a family unit.

The nocturnal hours had always thrown a shadow over my mood, anyway, always making it seem that I had to hide—always bringing into the focus the nature of my being, a very creature of the night.

But this had all changed, in the recent weeks. I no longer felt the impending gloom of the coming night; I no longer resigned myself to the long runs through purple woods, or hours spent composing at my piano—which, I loved, but still. I no longer filled the insignificant hours with reading or learning or listening to music. There were times, of course, when the duos would emerge from their couplings to interact with me. We'd play games, share stories, but more often than not, they chose to go off and spend their nights alone—whether to indulge in their physical bonds, or to simply spend the time deepening their emotional and mental relationships.

But now, I had something to look forward to—each and every night. Eleanor didn't understand how watching a simple human sleep could be so riveting, but she didn't understand the magnetic pull Beau had residing inside of him. She didn't understand the way he beguiled me. And maybe I was biased, seeing as I was in love with him, but either way, it didn't matter.

I was no longer alone in the night—no matter how oblivious my companion was.

The hours passed seamlessly while I watched Beau sleep. I longed for more time, always, but the morning would come eventually.

For now, I took up my typical residence in the rocking chair in the corner, and I watched him sleep.

I had always, of course, felt deep reverence for each of my family members. But the connection I felt to Beau was something entirely different. He had altered me in rare and permanent ways, and I was forever drawn to him—a moth to a flame, a cold, desolate planet orbiting his bright, warm sun. Once I had faced the truth of my connection to him, it seemed imbecilic to think that I could ever have avoided this. I would find a way to balance our worlds, no matter how much concentration it took, no matter how slim the point of equilibrium was.

I did not think I would survive the alternative.

Beau sighed now, his brows knitting together, eyes flickering back and forth beneath his eyelids. I was desperate to know the images he was watching, but then he uttered, very astutely, "It's too green."

Fond humor flooded me, and I felt great pleasure in being able to depict the reasoning behind his words. To anyone else, it might have sounded random and unanchored, but I knew the weight behind his words, behind the pucker in his brow. He missed his home, he missed the red and brown earth he'd spoken so reverently of, the spiny, barren foliage he had tried to describe to me.

He was more peaceful tonight, the words farther and fewer between. He was quiet for another hour, his chest rising and falling rhythmically in his slumber, and I gazed out the tiny square of his window, watching the deep indigo of night lighten to mauve, wondering if that was all I was going to get tonight.

But then he rolled, murmuring once more. I leaned forward in my seat, rapt with attention. His fingers twitched, and he sighed, "Edythe." It was almost a mere breath, the way he said my name, and suddenly I was glowing. How could the mere muttering of my name from mortal lips cause me such acute pleasure?

"Edythe," he said again, "Edythe, can I kiss you?"

I froze, eyes peeling back in astonishment at his spoken words. Where before, there had been the vague shadow of the unknown, when he'd spoken sweet and tender things in his sleep, tonight the sentence had clearly been directed right at me.

I had seen his reaction in the biology room, the way he'd wanted to reach out and touch me, the way he'd pressed his arm against my own. I'd seen the way his fingers would twitch toward mine while we walked, either in the parking lot or across campus, but to desire to press his warm, soft, vulnerable lips against the stone of mine? Was it possible?

My own desire, of course, was as present as ever. This sweet boy charmed me in ways I hadn't known I _could_ be, and I had fought the mental images and urges off time and time again. It wouldn't be safe, to allow my teeth such proximity to his fragrant skin… But I could not deny the craving that came with the thought. To press my lips to his, to feel the warmth of his skin against mine. I remembered the way his hand had felt on mine in the car after the ill-fated night in Port Angeles, how it had felt so much more than merely skin on skin. It had felt almost a sharing of influence; as if I'd come alive simply by the presence of his skin so near to my own. To feel every pulse of his ulnar artery, as if those pounding thumps could become my own, as if I could almost be… Human again.

And then, of course, was the supernatural, completely _in_ human nature of my yearnings. These I hadn't paid much attention to up until now, but they were becoming impossible to ignore. The need to put my claim on him, the craving to bond myself to him in a way only _I_ could.

And, then, deeper than that, the purely physiological, biological aspect. The strange, physical responses I felt in my body—a body that, by all means, was completely frozen. How could it be, after all this time, that I would be able to feel these things? Physical responses I had never felt, even when human myself. Responses and urges I desperately wanted to fulfill.

But could I succeed? Could I be as gentle with him as I knew I would need to be? All while controlling the deep, passionate need inside me that felt so all-consuming, so powerful, I was worried about the strength behind it…? I pondered this, the difference between the nature of my lustful impulses. Of course, there was the ever-present desire for his blood. I didn't know how much of this made up the other desires—how much of it was just a thinly-veiled motive to get my teeth closer to his skin. Possibly my deeper, instinctual desires attempting to trick me… I didn't have an answer to that, but I did know that the power his blood had formerly held over me was not as strong as it used to be.

I could control it now. The burning of my throat, the flow of venom in my mouth—the hunting instincts that I could not control, to a degree—were there, but the yearning behind it was no longer present. It was merely a factor of dominating the reflexes.

Was I strong enough to do that?

I didn't know, but I would have liked to find out, despite the paralyzing anxiety that rose in direct correlation with the appeal.

The sun was rising, fingers of glorious orange, red and yellow crawling across the sky. Beau's window appeared as a frame around a picture, dawn's ascent bursting from the folds of a delicate skirt the color of burnt copper.

It was time for me to go.

…

"Your odds are even better than last night," Archie told me as I descended the stairs, jacket over my arm, bag over my shoulder. "What happened?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Like you don't know."

He smirked smugly at me, and his thoughts were shuffling at too quick a rate for me to read them accurately. "Do I get to meet him today?"

"Fine," I relented, "I'll introduce you." I jabbed a finger at him. "But be good."

Archie blinked, his expression one of complete innocence. "When am I anything _but_?"

"When, indeed?" I rolled my eyes, brushing past him on the way out the door.

 _And, yes, I'll take the afternoon off to hunt with you._

Yes, I supposed that _would_ be a good idea—in order to prepare for the 'morrow.

I arrived in Beau's neighborhood before Chief Swan had departed, and I parked around the corner in the interim, while they had breakfast together and conversed.

I thought some more about the prospect I had spent time thinking over last night. I pacified myself with the reasoning that Archie had only seen Beau's chance for survival _increase_ when I'd considered giving him what he wanted.

 _"Edythe, can I kiss you?"_

I couldn't define the reason behind what those mumbled words elicited inside of my body. The strange twisting of my stomach, the acceleration of my breath, the unconscious smile it brought to my lips.

 _"Yes, Beau_ ," I wanted to whisper, _"Kiss me."_

But I had to be the one in control. I couldn't risk the unconscious gestures I might make. I had to be cautious, to be aware of every facet of sensation, sight and sound. My guard had to be up at all times, and I wondered if this strangely appealing, physical act of affection would hinder that somehow. Even the thought of it made my head woozy in a very unfamiliar way.

I heard Chief Swan start the cruiser and pull out of the driveway, and I quickly looped around to take his place, coming up one end of the street as he disappeared down the other.

Beau was at the door almost immediately, looking as delicious as always, locking the door behind him in haste. He didn't even seem to deliberate this morning, striding immediately to the passenger side of the Volvo.

I grinned at him, unable to control my joy. My very should-be unresponsive body reacted very viscerally to his presence. Not only that, but my emotional faculties, as well. I loved Beau in a way that made me feel utterly, delicately, human—and I had never felt stronger, as a result.

"How did you sleep?"

"Fine. How was your night?" he asked. His eyes searched my face in a way that might have made me feel self-conscious under any other circumstance. The blue in his irises were bright, excited, eager.

"Pleasant." I didn't have to think my answer through. Every night was exceedingly pleasant in which I was blessed with the opportunity to watch him sleep. But last night had been even more so…

"Can I ask what you did?"

"No," I replied, grinning at the thought of how he would react if I did. Adorable confusion. Endearing embarrassment. Beguiling discomfiture. "Today is still _mine_."

I had not had my fill of what made Beau, well, Beau. I leapt right back in to my list of questions as I reversed out of the driveway and headed toward the school. I drove just a little bit slower today, wanting as much alone time with him as I could get.

"Tell me more about your mother," I requested. "What does she pass her spare time doing?"

Beau laughed, a sound that brought an answering grin to my own face. "It changes all the time," he said, "That's one of the things that makes her, her. If you're asking for examples, I can think of anything from… Watercolor painting, to Zumba classes—" He paused briefly here, his face flushing, and I wondered about that, "—to rock-climbing." This one he winced at.

"Did you ever participate?"

I smiled softly when the blood flush underneath his skin deepened. I assumed I had been correct in my predictions.

"Some of them," he admitted. "But mostly we did things she thought I'd enjoy, too. We checked out a lot of antique bookstores, we took cooking classes together… Things like that. We took a lot of weekend trips up to my grandmother's, on the coast."

"Tell me about her."

"Grandma Marie?" Tenderness crossed his face. "She was great… She's actually the person I learned a lot of my recipes from. Once I was old enough to slice a tomato, I was in the kitchen with her before every meal. She loved to cook for people, and I loved being with her, talking about music and books and movies. We were… Pretty close."

"When did she die?" My voice was soft, tender. For all the consideration he'd had for me regarding the demise of my own parents, this was a much more touchy subject for him. The loss was fresh, and he'd been close to her.

"She died when I was fourteen. Breast cancer." He shrugged. "She went pretty quickly." He was staring into his lap now, his eyes troubled, and I wanted to comfort him.

I changed the subject. "Tell me about your school friends. Were you close with many people back in Arizona?"

He looked up at me. "Not really." He shrugged. "I mean, I had a few buddies, but mostly I kinda just kept to myself. They were all into video games and girls, and I… Wasn't, so much…"

"Girls," I mused. Surely he could not have gotten by this long without reciprocating interest in _someone_. And if the girls in Phoenix had been anything like the girls in Forks, he had not gotten by without some semblance of a relationship. As envious as the thought made me, I pushed for the information anyway.

He flushed bright red when I brought the topic up. "I've never, really… Dated anyone," he admitted, voice low with embarrassment.

I found this hard to believe. And on another, token, the thought pleased me. "So you never met anyone you wanted?" How could that be?

"Not in Phoenix."

I pressed my lips into a thin line, frustrated with his short answer. Would he tell me if it were me he was interested in? Or was it someone else?

We were in the cafeteria now. The morning had passed in a fashion I was steadily becoming used to. Where before, my school days dragged, now they passed much too quickly. I was glad it was Friday. Glad for the time I would have with him tomorrow, despite the dangerous predicament it presented.

Beau took a bite of his sandwich, and I took pause to listen to Archie's incessant whining. Half of the lunch hour had passed, and he was growing impatient.

 _C'mon, Edy! Let me come say 'hi'. I'm_ dying _over here!_

I chuckled under my breath at that.

"I should have let you drive yourself today." I addressed Beau now.

He swallowed the bite he'd been chewing. "Why?"

"I'm leaving with Archie after lunch."

"Oh." He blinked rapidly, and I could hear the disappointment in his voice, which he tried hopelessly to mask. "That's okay, it's not that far of a walk."

I frowned at him, hoping he didn't think so little of me to make him walk home in the rain. "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your truck and leave it here for you."

"I don't have my key with me." He sighed, resigned to the fact, but obviously he wasn't aware of my superior tracking skills. "I really don't mind walking." He still sounded disappointed. Was it over the trek he thought he'd have to make home, or was it because I was leaving early? I clung desperately to the latter possibility.

I shook my head at Beau now. "Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition—unless you're afraid someone might steal it." I laughed at the highly improbable likelihood.

"Okay." He didn't sound convinced. "So where are you going?"

"Hunting. If we're going to be alone together tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." Suddenly, I hoped he would give up on the entire institute, as heartbroken as I would be. I reminded myself that as long as I suffered, Beau stayed safe. "You can always cancel, you know," I reminded him.

He didn't look at me for a moment. "No," he finally breathed, his eyes flitting to mine, "I can't."

I thought about that for a minute, wondering if I, myself, would be able to keep myself away from him, notwithstanding the hazard it risked. How despicable a creature I was, so self-serving. I wanted to prove my experiments, I wanted to succeed. But more than that, I did not think I would be able to withstand the pain of being away from him.

"Perhaps you're right," I murmured in agreement.

He watched me for a minute, rapt with sudden inattention. That glazed look in his eyes… Was it trepidation, or allure?

"What time tomorrow?" he asked, sounded sad again.

"That depends," I told him, "It's Saturday. Don't you want to sleep in?"

"No," he blurted immediately, and unbidden, the grin rose to my face. His eagerness delighted me—all the dark, selfish parts, that is.

"Same time as usual, then?"

He nodded. "Where should I pick you up?"

"I'll come to your place, also as usual." I didn't want him getting lost on the way to my house—that, and I didn't want him to have to face my family if he didn't want to. That could come later…

"Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway." His tone was wrought with skepticism.

I grinned. "I wasn't intending to bring a car."

"How—?"

"Don't worry about it," I interjected, toying with the idea of how he'd react to my superhuman speed. Maybe I could show him… "I'll be there, no car. No chance that Charlie will see anything out of the ordinary." And then something else occurred to me. "And then, if you don't come home, it will be a complete mystery, won't it?" Maybe I _should_ bring the car…

"Guess so," he said, shrugging, "Maybe I'll get on the news and everything."

I felt my scowl deepen. This was _not_ a joke. But I wondered, as I watched him eat his lunch, if he really didn't find me as threatening as I so thought. Did he trust me so? Did he have that much faith in me?

The wonderment softened my mood.

"What are you hunting tonight?" he finally asked, and his tone was surprisingly casual. Did this truly not frighten him?

"Whatever we find in the park," I answered with equal insouciance, "We aren't going far." I stared at him, hoping my off-handedness would bring out some of his own trepidation, like I'd hoped the day before, but his expression remained unchanged.

"Why are you going with Archie?" he asked, "Didn't you say he was being annoying?"

 _Annoying_ , indeed. His thoughts beat at the back of my mind, begging for his 'in', threatening to make it himself if I didn't relent soon. I focused on the conversation at hand.

"He's still the most… supportive."

"And the rest of them?" Did I detect some trepidation in his tone now? "What are they?"

Many, many different reactions had made their selves known to me among my family members. I grappled for a reaction they would all be able to agree upon. "Incredulous, for the most part," I decided.

He peeked over my shoulder, toward the table they sat around.

"They don't like me," he concluded.

"That's not it," I argued. _They don't like that you're human. They don't like the risk of exposure I'm taking._ "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."

He frowned. "Me, either."

I smiled encouragingly. "You're not like anyone I've ever known, Beau. You fascinate me."

"I can't understand that," he muttered.

How to make him see? How could he not know how beguiling he was? How could he not know how fascinatingly unpredictable—how he never gave me the reactions I'd been expecting; how completely _unique_ he was, among this human race of unchanging _sheep_? How could he not see what a spectacular specimen of a human being he was? "Have the advantages I do," I began, touching the tip of my finger to my forehead, "I have a better-than-average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you… you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise." His eyes strayed, obviously not convinced, so I continued on. I could accolade him for hours if it would help him comprehend even an inkling of the attraction I possessed for him. "That part is easy enough to explain. But there's more, and it's not so easy to put into words—" How utterly, unbearably _human_ he made me feel, in the best way possible. How he had utterly and completely turned my world around—had dragged me from darkness into day. The way in which he'd altered every part of me was permanent and undeniable. _Love_ was too simple a word for the way I felt about him…

Royal's vicious thoughts broke through my quiet monologue.

 _Don't you get too comfortable,_ kid,he snarled in his thoughts. I could see Beau, through his eyes, across the cafeteria, the terror in his eyes; the _pleasure_ this brought Royal. _I could still take you out. It would be_ easy _… Too easy…_

That same protective instinct rose up inside me, escaping through my teeth in a warning hiss. Royal could threaten and cajole and berate me all he wanted—but he _would not_ threaten my Beau.

He turned his face away, turning his internal fury to me. That was fine. I could handle it.

"That was definitely dislike," Beau muttered under his breath. Did I detect a tremor of fear in his tone?

"I'm sorry about that," I apologized. His fear caused me great pain. "He's just worried. You see… it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly…" I couldn't bring myself to say the words, to imagine the awful, tragic end…

"If?" he urged.

More than the pain, it was vital for me to keep Beau aware of the risk he was taking, by being with me. More than the agony it caused me, it was important I kept Beau safe. Or, as safe as he was willing to be. "If this ends… badly."

I let the shame swallow me, dropping my very suddenly heavy head into my hands. I would not be able to live with myself if I were to harm Beau in any way. The agony of his terror, his pain, would haunt me unendingly. After all this time of building myself up the degree of confidence I thought I possessed, was it possible I wasn't quite as strong as I thought I was? Of course it was. Wasn't the evidence there in every word I said to him, every moment I allowed myself to spend in his warmth? Wasn't it there in the way I was hopelessly unable to keep myself away from him?

I felt his hand on my elbow, the heat of his skin oscillating through the thin fabric of my long-sleeved t-shirt immediately. His touch made the self-loathing worse. Not for the first time, he was trying to comfort me in a fashion that was completely backwards to how it should be. Shouldn't _I_ be consoling _him_?

"And you have to leave now?" His voice sounded raw with tension.

"Yes." I let my hands drop, and appraised the place where he touched me for a moment. The thin membrane of his skin, the steady rush of blood beneath that membrane. So delicate. So fragile. But I found, with a rush of pleasure, that the animal did not rear its head.

 _Okay, enough stalling. My turn to meet Beau!_

I smiled in exasperation of my annoyingly stubborn brother. He was intent on seeing the future of his and Beau's friendship play out.

"It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology—I don't think I could take anymore." I was glad that I wouldn't have to face the confusing myriad of emotions and yearnings.

Beau jerked suddenly, pulling his hand away from my arm, and his eyes flashed up to Archie, who was now standing behind my chair.

 _Go ahead,_ he urged amusedly, _Introduce me._

He had felt no need to keep up the charade, and I felt my mouth twist wryly at his confident ways. "Archie," I greeted him without taking my eyes off Beau's face. I drank in what I could of him, burying it inside to keep with me while I was gone. That same inexplicable anxiety rose up inside me again, when I imagined leaving him, being away from him.

"Edythe." He mocked my own tone. He was nearly unbridled with excitement, over meeting his new would-be best friend.

 _I'm waiting!_

"Archie," I relented, "Beau. Beau—Archie."

"Hello, Beau," he greeted him, careful to keep his smile friendly and non-threatening, "It's nice to _finally_ meet you."

I shot him a warning look.

"Um, hey, Archie." Beau looked a little nervous.

"Are you ready?" he asked me, aloud for Beau's benefit.

"Nearly." I answered both questions in one fell swoop, "I'll meet you at the car."

 _Yeah, yeah,_ he thought, _I'll get out of your hair… Thanks for introducing us, Edy._

He strode away silently, leaving us to our farewell.

Beau gulped. "Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?" His face fell, just enough to know he was sad.

Ah, he _would_ miss me, I realized with a note of gladness. Not nearly as much as I would miss him, however.

"'Have fun' works as well as anything," I assured him, grinning. _I adore you, beautiful boy. I'll be back soon._

"Have fun, then," he said, still dejected.

"I'll try," I said, thinking of all the things that could wrong in my absence, "And you try to be safe, please."

He sighed. "Safe in Forks—what a challenge." Again with the sarcasm. He really didn't believe just how prone he was to disaster…

I clenched my jaw. "For you it _is_ a challenge. Promise," I begged him.

"I promise to try to be safe." He rolled his eyes, still unconvinced. "I was meaning to deal with the laundry… or is that too hazardous a task? I mean, I could fall in or something."

I narrowed my eyes, trying not to smile. The joke really wasn't funny, so I didn't know why I found myself amused.

"Okay, okay," he relented, so my glare must have been convincing, "I'll do my best."

Satisfied, I stood. He rose immediately thereafter.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said glumly.

I smiled pensively. I knew the time would pass much faster for me. Time meant something different to us immortals, but this was the first time in a long time that it had felt insufferable to me. "It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?"

He nodded, eyes saddened.

"I'll be there in the morning," I vowed. I gathered my things, walked to his side, and brushed my fingers along the back of his hand, knowing he no longer feared my touch—if he had, in the beginning. I was beginning to suspect he hadn't—if my expectations for the unexpected were accurate.

Then I went to join Archie by the car. He was waiting by the driver's side, hand already held out for the keys.

"You're driving, are you?"

He smirked as I tossed him the key from three yards away, raising a pointer finger. The key ring caught on the digit, spinning out before the keys settled against his palm. "I'm surprised," he said as he ducked inside, "You—opting to drive that old, rusty thing?"

I laughed as I slipped into the passenger seat. "Ah, what I wouldn't do for love."

He grinned at me. "Exactly."

We drove in silence to Beau's house, and Archie parked smoothly along the curb.

I chose my usual avenue of entry through Beau's window. Once I was inside, I employed my superior sense of smell to locate Beau's key. I was expecting to find it somewhere here in his room, but the pants he'd worn yesterday were empty, and the metallic scent of metal was untraceable. I headed out into the hallway and downstairs.

Eventually, I found the key in the laundry room, at the bottom of the laundry pile. It had taken me all of thirty seconds to locate.

Before I headed back outside, I retrieved a piece of paper from the desk in the sitting room. I scrawled two quick words down, hoping it would serve as a reminder of not only my devotion, but also my anxiety in leaving him behind.

I glanced quickly at my scrawled words,

.

Be Safe.

.

and then folded the letter in half.

Archie met me back at the school. I left the driver's side door unlocked, my letter on the seat, and my heart with the boy across campus.

…

 **A/N:** As always, feedback is appreciated! Onwards to the meadow scene… I can't wait!


	13. Revelations

**A/N:** Lots of shame and angst in this chapter—at least until the end. I find, a lot of the time, we believe the very best for others, but it's very hard for us to think ourselves worthy of the exact same thing. You'll see what I'm talking about.

I imagine Edythe murmuring "Dimming Of The Day" by Alison Krauss to soothe herself. It's a beautiful song, and a certain part of the lyrics just pin-points the nature of how Edythe sees the relationship between her and Beau… _You pull me like the moon pulls on the tide, you know just where I keep my better side…_ Give it a listen. It really is a beautiful song. I've been obsessed with it lately since I read it in a Hunger Games FF.

And while we're talking about beautiful songs that fit Edythe's nature, I recently found Sarah Darling's cover of "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" and it's just… Oh. Perfect. The song (by Muse) was originally on Edward's playlist for Midnight Sun, and just for fun, I went looking for covers and found Sarah Darlings. I fell in love with that one, too. SO check those both out if you get the chance, OR check 'em out on my playlist over at 8tracks ( /foreverdawn/you-pull-me-in-like-the-moon-pulls-on-the-tide)

Anyway! Gosh. I always start off these A/N's with, 'Jeez, what am I gonna talk about?', and then I end up rambling until there's no tomorrow. SO enough of that! Here we go!

…

I hesitated in the trees lining the Swan property. There was a thin layer of clouds in the sky, enough to obscure my skin's reaction to the UV rays mostly. It still glowed faintly, but I wasn't sure human eyes would pick that up.

Inside the house, I could hear the sound of rushing water, and the scrub of a brush against ceramic. I listened as Beau's feet pounded up the stairs, and then the water was running in the upstairs bathroom—he was brushing his teeth. I waited until he'd finished with that before I moved to the front door.

Suddenly, I felt cautious. Archie had said that he was seventy-five percent sure, this morning, that Beau would survive today. Part of me had hoped I could have caught Charlie before he left for his fishing escapade, but he'd left before the sun had risen. His father had no idea where he was going, and I forced myself to think of the Chief's reaction, if he were to come home to an empty house… I felt marginally more at ease, knowing Beau had to have told someone, probably Jeremy, of our plans for the day—maybe not these specific ones, but at the very least that we would be together.

I knocked quietly, and I heard his feet on the stairs. There was a brief skirmish on the other side of the door as he struggled with the deadbolt, but then the door flew open.

The most delicious human I had ever laid eyes on stood in the doorway, eyes bright, and I drank in the sight of him. He wore a light tan sweater and a white t-shirt underneath, both crew neck, and blue jeans. I forced my eyes not to linger on the way the soft material of his sweater clung to his arms and chest—streamlining his shape. By complete coincidence, I was wearing almost the exact same thing—only, my sweater was scoop neck, and I wore a thin white tank top underneath. I didn't usually show much of my skin around the humans, but this had been part of the plan, and it was almost a requirement in this instance.

I laughed at our matching outfits. My mood would have brightened at the sight of him alone, anyway. "Good morning."

"What's wrong?" Immediately Beau glanced self-consciously down at himself.

"We match." I giggled again. I didn't know why, but this was fitting, and it soothed me to know we were on the same wavelength—at least in some ways.

Sighing in resignation, I walked over to the truck while he locked the front door behind him. This was going to be a very slow drive.

"You agreed to this," he reminded me as he unlocked and opened my door for me.

 _Only for you._ I shot him an over-exaggerated martyred look as I climbed into the seat.

Despite the fact that he hadn't driven the vehicle in nearly a week, his scent saturated the tiny cab. It was ingrained in every fiber of the bench seat, overwhelming the air around me. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling the burn in my throat, focusing on that for a brief moment. I reminded myself that I had authority over the burn, I could control the desire of my thirst. I _would_. I would bring Beau safely home to his father today.

He hopped in on the driver's side and revved the grating engine to life.

"Where to?"

"Put your seatbelt on—I'm nervous already."

He did as I asked, and then repeated his question.

"Take the one-oh-one north."

He backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. I took the long opportunity of his focus on the road to stare at his profile, to memorize every inch of it—every perfect imperfection, every angle of his face, the shape of his lips, the fringe of dark lashes around those amazing eyes. The patch of red I could see peeking out the neckline of his sweater. Could he feel my eyes on him?

I thought deeply about the day that laid ahead, the predicament it presented. Not only would we be alone as a predator and her prey—but we would also be alone as a couple. Or, rather, this strange in-between stage we were in. I had a feeling that would change today.

 _"Edythe… Can I kiss you?"_ he'd murmured in his sleep the other night. Even the memory of the words had those familiar sensations welling up inside me: the butterfly-wing feeling in my stomach, the sudden electric current running along the surface of my skin. And my reaction to his unconscious request, how unthinking it had been… How instinctual. The very human part of me, the part I was trying to embrace, wanted very much to feel what it would be like to have his warm, soft lips on mine; I wanted to know how it would feel to allow him to hold me in his arms that way…

And there was the other reaction that came in response to the idea—the strange, giddy nervousness. For whatever reason, it had my breath hitching.

I forced myself to focus on something else.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

He didn't take his eyes off the road. "This truck is old enough to be the Volvo's grandfather—have a little respect."

I giggled, but to please me, he did pick up the speed.

Archie had said this day would be significant in more ways than one, if I succeeded at not killing him. Was this what he'd been talking about? He'd been focusing very hard on various images in his mind when he had told me this, so I couldn't quite be sure where his mind had been, but I wondered if this had to be it.

It took ages for Beau to drive out of town limits, and the impatience made me uncomfortable, but it was a far easier sensation to focus on than the ones that I felt mentally, emotionally and physically when I thought about all the different ways this day could go. Equal amounts of paralyzing fear and deep, aching desire were at war inside of me.

I relayed the instructions automatically, and he obeyed without speaking.

"Now we drive until the pavement ends."

"And what's there, at the pavement's end?" he asked quietly. His hands were at exactly ten and two, and his eyes had not strayed from the road once. I had forgotten how hard humans had to focus while driving.

"A trail."

"We're hiking?" Though he tried to hide it, there was just the slightest hint of panicked hysteria in his tone. I could see why he might react this way.

"Is that a problem?"

"No," he lied.

"Don't worry," I assuaged him, "It's only five miles or so, and we're in no hurry."

I found it suddenly ironic how much I hated driving slow; but walking alongside Beau at a normal human's pace was something else altogether. I would move at the pace of a tortoise if it afforded me more time spent with him.

Beau looked suddenly anxious, and it raised alarm in me. Was he second-guessing his decision to be alone with me today? Was he afraid? Or was it simply due to his aversion to physical activity?

"What are you thinking?" The question slipped from my lips on its own accord.

"Just wondering where we're going," he said.

"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice." We both looked out the windows, at the expanding sky. The sunshine was burning away the hazy clouds, points of blue forcing its way through—visible to my eyes, at least.

"Charlie said it would be warm today."

 _So did Archie._ "And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?"

"Nope."

"But you probably said something to Jeremy about me driving you to Seattle," I surmised, placated by the assumption.

"No, I didn't."

Shock, cold as ice spiked through my dry veins, and then, immediately following, the hot flame of anger. " _No one knows you're with me_?"

"That depends," Beau mumbled, "I assume you told Archie?"

"That's very helpful, Beau," I snapped. Again, he was not only flirting with death, he was downright _seducing_ it. I found myself questioning his sanity once more. "Is it the weather?" I wondered, "Seasonal affective disorder? Has Forks made you so depressed you're actually suicidal?"

"You said it might cause problems for you… us being together publicly."

My fists clenched in my lap. "So you're worried about the trouble it might cause _me_ —if _you_ don't come _home_?" My tone was scathing.

He only nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I ought to put this boy in a padded room—straight jacket and all," I growled under my breath, sure the words had passed from my lips too quickly for him to understand. It was becoming more and more clear to me that Beau was of no help when it came to keeping him alive. I was alone in this endeavor, and the thought of that enraged me—for, who could be a worse choice in the gate-keeper of his life, than the very monster who craved his blood every second?

The only redeeming factor was that the animal inside me, who had been so intent on his homicide, was no longer present. It would be pure, tragic accident if I were to harm him, now. But that didn't make me any less dangerous.

I debated, for half a second, over whether I should convince him to turn around and go home. It said much about my own selfishness that I did not utter the words.

We came to the end of the road, and Beau pulled the truck over onto the shoulder. He was quiet, as he stepped out of the truck, and I lingered there for a moment, staring at his turned back.

A million thoughts swirled through my head—doubt, satisfaction, fear, longing, pain, euphoria, excitement, dread… Had this really been the right decision, to take him here?

I peeled my sweater off and got out of the truck, slamming the door behind me. The atmosphere was rising in temperature now, the air heavier with humidity. It would be sunny by the time we got to the meadow, and it made no sense to bring my sweater along.

I twisted my hair up into a coil, and then pivoted to stare into the trees. I pondered the best route to take. The rough terrain was no issue for me; for Beau, however…

"This way," I decided, glancing over my shoulder at Beau to make sure he followed. He'd removed his sweater, too, and wore just the t-shirt now. Despite the modest garment, I had never seen so much of his skin before. His arms were more defined than I had expected them to be.

I stepped off the shoulder, through the taller grass and weeds, drifting into the shade of the trees.

"The trail?" His voice spiked with anxiety.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it."

"No trail? Really?" He sounded afraid—but of course, he would not be afraid of being alone with me. The lack of footpath was of _far_ greater concern… My musings were heavily sarcastic, of course.

I rolled my eyes where he couldn't see, and then glanced back at him with a soft, teasing smirk. "I won't let you get lost."

As I watched, despair so crushing it panicked me, shadowed his face and darkened his eyes. At once, I was sure that he must have finally understood the danger I posed, and the pain the comprehension lanced through me surprised me. Agony, exacerbated by the torment in his own expression, consumed me.

"Do you want to go home?" I braced myself for the rejection.

"No," he said. Then he strode forward until he was next to me, so close our bare arms almost brushed.

His response confused me. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not a fast hiker. You'll have to be very patient." He was hiding something, something he didn't want me to know, but he'd made his choice. I would be on my best behavior today; I would be at my strongest. I would give him nothing to fear. I inhaled deeply, the swirling notes of his scent scorching my throat. Authority. Dominion over the thirst. I possessed it.

"I can be patient—if I make a great effort," I teased. I ducked my head slightly, to hold his gaze, hoping the joke would be enough to brighten his suddenly despairing mood. As answerless as his mood was, as much as I wanted to know what was behind the gloom, what mattered more in this moment was pacifying him.

He forced his lips into a smile, but the expression wasn't convincing.

Did he not trust me? This realization hurt more than the idea that he might be frightened of me.

"I'll take you home," I vowed. Even if it caused me great agony, even if I had to destroy myself in assurance that I did _not_ obliterate him, I _would_ keep him safe.

Suddenly, his eyes were firm with resolve. "If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way." His tone was sour, and it took me a little off guard.

I tried to understand it, but his expression and tone did not match up to any of what I'd formerly learnt about his character. I gave up after a moment, wondering if his sudden sullenness could really be due to his aversion to hiking.

I attempted to ease the journey for him to the best of my ability. I found the smoothest path, and stayed close to his side in case he needed steadying. To my great astonishment, the wicked snarls of the forest only caught him unawares twice, and both times, I was able to reach out and grip his elbow before he could fall. Each time I did so, a shockwave would zip up my arm, resonating from where our skin had come into contact. I didn't think he was so immune to the strange sensations, himself. Each time I touched him, his heart pounded into high gear.

I wondered about that, remembering again the thin line between attraction and fear. Could that be why he reacted to my touch so palpably, or was it the chill of my skin in the shade of the forest that put him off?

It occurred to me, once more, that I was revealing more of my body than I ever had in public before. Could the way his eyes lingered on my collarbones, my neck, my shoulders, be more than just subtle ways to avoid my gaze? The slow rise of color in his neck and face, the erratic beat of his heart, all clued me in to the possibility that he desired me in the same way I desired him.

There was a strange warmth awakening itself deep inside my core, sending ripples out to my arms and fingers, that demanded attention.

But I refused to allow my mind to go in that direction, the direction that wanted to see more of _his_ skin, and I quashed the inappropriate quandaries as soon as they floundered their way into my mind.

To distract myself, I asked more questions.

"Tell me about your favorite teacher from grade school," I requested. He glanced up at the strange heated restraint in my tone—I could hear it, too—and stumbled. I gripped his elbow, welcoming that strange electric shock.

"Um," he huffed, regaining his composure. "Mr. Haldon. Grade One." The answer seemed to come easily, and it intrigued me.

"Why?"

He shrugged, sheepish. "He taught me how to read."

I asked him about birthdays, childhood friends, favored school subjects. When I asked him if he'd had any childhood pets, he told me he'd given up on the practice after killing three goldfish in a row.

I laughed loudly at the irony. He was able to care for his mother as a child, but he was unable to keep one measly vertebrate alive? I found the paradox acutely hilarious.

The hike took longer than I had expected—most of the morning—but also something I hadn't anticipated was that it wouldn't bother me in the least. I was perfectly content to walk alongside Beau, to lead him through the mossy green labyrinth, toward my quiet, special utopia. I wondered about the significance of this—sharing this place with Beau. I had never even brought Archie here, the one member of my family whom I considered myself closest to.

Steadily, the sun regained its strength, pressing down through the canopy of trees above us with its warmth and vitality. I was eager to feel it on my skin.

Eventually, the path brightened ahead, and I could see where we would find the opening into the meadow.

"Are we there yet?" he asked.

"Nearly," I assured him, "Do you see the clearer light ahead?"

He squinted in its direction blindly. "Um, should I?"

"Maybe it is a bit soon for _your_ eyes," I relented.

"Time to visit the optometrist," he deadpanned on a sigh, and I grinned at his good humor.

We continued forward, and as the light ahead grew brighter, I suddenly found myself feeling anxious. I had decided that I would bear my entire nature to him today, I would leave nothing left to hide. This had to be _his_ choice, and the only way to make a fully educated, rounded choice, would be to see me for what I truly was. But I was suddenly hesitant, and I found myself pulling back as we drew nearer to the opening. Would he be repulsed by my obvious alien-ness? When he saw the way my skin refracted light, would he demand I take him home, right then and there? Would he be disgusted, frightened, repelled?

Without hesitation, Beau pushed his way through the border of ferns flanking the meadow, and stepped into the golden sunshine. I paused where I was, still safely hidden in the shadows of the towering primordial pines, wishing I could see his face, so that I could see his reaction. But his back stayed to me as he moved slowly through the tall, swaying grass and the wildflowers, which carpeted the ground.

And then he stopped and whirled, realizing that I wasn't there with him. He found me hesitating in the shade, and the expression on his face was so full of awestruck wonder, it made me ache.

He took a step back toward me, offering his hand. Then he smiled softly, receptively, and started back toward me.

But I needed a moment. I held up a hand, and he halted immediately, obeying my unspoken request.

How did the human adage go—? You never know until you try.

I figured it applied, in this case. Besides, I soothed myself, Beau had hardly ever reacted in the way I expected him to. Encouraged by this, I took a deep breath, tasting the sunshine, just out of reach, on the back of my tongue, closed my eyes, and I stepped out of the dark, and into the light.

I had my eyes closed, so I was only aware of the fact that Beau was sprinting toward me by way of sound.

" _Edythe_!" he shouted. I couldn't decide whether his tone sounded panicked, shocked, disgusted, or possibly a combination of all three.

I opened my eyes, seeing his rapid approach, and I threw up my hand, warning him to keep his distance. Suddenly, very clearly, one of the images Archie had seen reared in the back of my mind. Beau's sudden advance, my unprepared reaction… I bit the thought off short.

Beau stumbled to a stop so sudden he nearly toppled to his knees. He stared, eyes wide with… what? I couldn't fathom the expression on his face. I stared back, terrified.

He took a cautious step forward. "Does that hurt you?" he whispered.

"No," I breathed. These hadn't been the words I'd expected to hear. Again—it sounded like he was _concerned_ for me. But underneath that concern was something else. Something that gave me enough pause to allow him to come closer, and to circle around me. I felt his eyes on me, burning brighter than the sun with their rapt attention, and the apprehension was tearing me apart.

What did he see, when he gazed at me? Did he see the alien that I was? Did he see that our worlds were galaxies apart? Would he realize that we were too different—that he found my disparity atrocious? Was he _frightened_?

He completed his very slow circle, and then closed the gap between us until his fragrance was a physical force in the air around me. Sweetened by the warmth of the gilded sun, potent in his proximity. My throat burned. My muscles were already rigid with self-conscious terror, but they tightened more, now.

"Edythe," he whispered. His eyes were still wide, the vivid blue in them crushing. The beauty of this boy broke my heart—because I knew, I would never be enough for him. But I wanted, _desperately_ , to be. If I had to spend the rest of his life trying to be that, to be _enough_ , I would do it. If he still wanted me, after this ghastly show of the monster, the outsider, I truly was.

"Are you scared now?" I breathed.

" _No_." The word was so vehement, so intense, I could only stare. The wide-eyed bewilderment, the swirling storm in his eyes, could it be different from what I'd thought? Was it true? Was he really unafraid? Had I misread the emotion on his face?

His hand came up, slowly, and he watched my face as he moved, measuring my reaction. I flinched, but I didn't stop his approach. I was still frozen with fear when he touched me, laying his fingertips against my arm. Warmth, more piercing than that of the blazing rays of the sun, sunk underneath the surface of my skin, through the petrified flesh and muscle, down to the hollow marrow of my bones. I stared at his face, unable to process his feelings.

His expression was fathomless, eyes still wide, lips slightly parted as he watched his fingers brush the skin on my arm.

Rainbows danced across his face, reflecting off my skin.

"What are you thinking?" I was unable to employ the full volume of my voice.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. "I am… I didn't know…" He paused and took a breath. "I've never seen anything more beautiful—never imagined anything so beautiful could exist."

I appraised him, attempting to find the real motive behind the words. I couldn't decide whether he was just saying the words to appease me, or if he really thought they were true. But the blue in his eyes was so bright, and the expression on his face was… Well, I had no words for it. But it put a metaphorical lump in my throat.

On its own accord, my hand began to lift, wanting to touch his face, to hold him in place so I could stare into those heavenly eyes, but when I moved, the rainbows on his face swam and intensified. Mortification caused me to drop my hand. "It's very strange, though," I murmured, hoping to pull more out of him.

"Amazing." His voice was still just a mere whisper.

Could I bring myself to believe his words? Could I assume that he thought I really was as beautiful as he said? "Aren't you repulsed by my flagrant lack of humanity?"

He shook his head slowly, dazedly. "Not repulsed."

I felt my eyes narrow in disapproval. "You should be," I told him. But amidst the disapproval, my heart was soaring. He _wasn't_ repulsed by me… He thought I was… Beautiful? More beautiful than anything he'd ever seen? According to him, at least.

"I'm feeling like humanity is pretty overrated," he said now.

At these words, my heart plummeted, and I pulled my arm, very gently, out from underneath his fingers, securing it behind my back. Unbidden, the image of Beau's pale, granite skin and crimson eyes, flashed in my mind's eye. The mental picture caused me palpable pain.

Without hesitation, Beau took a step toward me, and my inattention nearly ended his life. At the same time he'd moved closer, I'd inhaled, and his fragrance scorched my airways. The resulting release of venom and coil of my muscles was very reflexive. The bloodlust flared—urged by the sweet fermenting of his scent in the warmth of the sun—and I could see it, for a fraction of a second, in my mind's eye. Reaching out to grab him, to pull him to me, to press my aching jaws against the column of his throat…

I wrenched myself back four yards before I could do something I would regret, jaw locked against my stopped breath, hand up to ward him off.

He blinked, taking a moment to process my sudden departure. "I'm sorry," he blurted immediately.

 _I'm sorry…_ I had almost _killed_ him! All because I'd allowed my attention to wander for half a second. He could not afford this irresponsibility on my part!

He didn't know the risk he was taking, putting himself so close to me. He did not understand the very real danger I was! I would have to be more aware, more attentive.

"I need some time," I said, knowing the request was unreasonable, knowing I deserved nothing less than his patience and his understanding. But I wanted this; I wanted to be able to be close to him, to sit in this meadow and talk, and be together… Now that it was becoming apparent that he wasn't terrified of me, and that he didn't find my monstrous nature repulsive—or quite as repulsive as I would have assumed.

"I'll be more careful," he promised.

It was too much to ask of him, but I was grateful for the guarantee anyway. I nodded and walked forward, giving him a wide berth as I passed, and crossed to the middle of the meadow. I folded my legs under me, facing away from him, and stared into the shade of the trees across the clearing.

 _No more mistakes,_ I reprimanded myself.

I heard very clearly when he came toward me, passing too close—I held my breath—to sit across from me. I would have liked a little more space, but he lowered himself into the grass five feet away.

"Is this all right?"

I nodded, forcing down the anxious frenetic energy inside of me. "Just let me… concentrate."

He did. He was very obediently quiet for a long few seconds, and I let my eyelids flutter closed.

Archie had seen two possible outcomes to this story. He had said this day would be significant in more ways than one. I focused on the truth of that sentiment. He had said Beau had a seventy-five percent chance of surviving this day, and I focused on all the little choices that would lead him to that success. Every move I would make that I had seen in Archie's visions, every seemingly inconsequential detail.

I forced myself to focus on the premonitions he'd pictured of his death, too, watching every move Beau would or would not make, paying extra attention to the trigger-point, when the animal inside would overwhelm me, and I would give in to the desire to sate my thirst.

Watching these instances play out brought me great pain, but in time, it soothed the edges of my anxiety, softened them. If I could keep an eye out for what might or might not come, maybe I could keep myself aware enough to keep him safe.

Archie had said, not once, but many times, that it would cause me great pain if I were to kill Beau. I paid attention to what that pain would feel like—for myself, yes, but for the friends he'd made, his mother, his father… I focused on the grief it would bring them, knowing how deeply Charlie loved his son, knowing how great a loss it would be for him.

But for myself… I couldn't fathom how I would go on if… If I did what I swore I would never do—which was destroy Beau's soul in any way. It would be unendurable, to have known a love so deep and strong and wide, and then to have that end on my own accord. No. I would not survive that.

Eventually, the combination of these musings relaxed me, made me sure of my course, and I laid back in the grass, one hand behind my head.

"Can I…?" Beau asked hesitantly.

He had been so quiet, so obedient, the thumping of his heart and the whoosh of his breath had been the only sound in the very warm, very quiet meadow. All of the residual menace was gone. His scent still burned my throat, but I was prepared enough, in this instance, to assert my authority over the thirst. I would not let it control me. I would stay focused.

I patted the ground beside me, inviting him to sit.

I heard him scoot a few feet closer, pausing. He moved another foot closer, and than another half-foot.

I had kept my eyes closed, because it was easier to block out some of the stimulus this way.

I forced myself to continue to breathe, focusing on the way his scent pierced my throat, remembering that, when I suffered, Beau lived. When I was in agony, Beau was safe. I took another deep breath, in and out.

He shifted once more, and then became very still.

I sang softly to myself, knowing it would lull the fears in my heart and mind.

"Did you… say something?" he whispered. He was sitting close enough for me to feel his breath wash over my exposed skin when he spoke. I didn't stop breathing, expecting that the intensity of the burn would be worse with him closer. It was.

"Just singing to myself," I elaborated without opening my eyes, "It calms me."

We sat in companionable silence for a long time. Every so often, when I could feel his fragrance influencing me in the direction of peril, I sang a few more lines to myself. Songs that I knew would bring peace, and calmness—various nocturnes, ballades, concertos. And then, from more modern artists—Alison Krauss, Lee Ann Womack, Martina McBride, Mary Carpenter, Sleeping at Last, Seabird, Kodaline… Singers with voices that helped soothe the tension inside whenever it had arisen in the past—though never to this magnitude, to be sure.

I sang softly to myself for a while, feeling the gradual relaxation of my tensed muscles, acclimating myself to the way the sun made Beau smell impossibly sweeter. Eventually, the venom stopped flowing, my jaw stopped aching, and I felt in control again.

Beau touched me, and I opened my eyes to watch his face. It was just the tip of his pointer finger, on the back of my hand, and it was clear now—how had I not noticed it before?—that he was fascinated, almost… in awe. His eyes were so intense, his gaze so focused, that I might have blushed if I'd been a normal, seventeen-year-old human girl.

He must have felt me watching him, because he glanced up, his finger stilling against my skin.

"I still don't scare you, do I?" I realized I was smiling.

"Nope. Sorry." He didn't sound very sorry at all, and my grin widened.

His eyes fell back to his prior focus, and he shifted incrementally closer. His scent wafted over me, and I inhaled carefully. He shifted the point of access with my skin, unfurling his hand and fingers until his entire palm covered my hand, his long fingers stretching up my forearm. The warmth enveloped my fingers, my hand, my wrist, resonating up my entire arm. The heat was indescribable.

"Do you mind?" he murmured.

"No," I replied, "You can't imagine how that feels."

I felt his hand drift over my arm, fingers tracing the veins at the crease of my elbow. The warmth sparked there and spread, as if he'd injected the pleasurable feeling directly into my bloodstream. Soon enough, it filled my entire body with a high I couldn't describe.

I opened my eyes to watch him, feeling I needed to do this in order to stay grounded in this moment, lest I float away on the tide of the feelings he was creating in me. He reached for my hand, and guessing at what he wanted, I flipped my palm up. His fingers froze, and I realized I'd moved too quickly.

"Sorry." I smiled at the odd reversal of roles. Beau was usually the one to apologize so incessantly. "It's too easy to be myself with you."

He didn't answer, only lifted my hand and angled it this way and that, inspecting it for some unseen origin. He stared so intently, I had to ask.

"Tell me what you're thinking. It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

"The rest of us feel that way all the time, you know," he replied chidingly.

"It's a hard life." I had meant to utter the words in jest, but suddenly I realized how true it was. "But you didn't tell me."

"I was wishing I could know what _you_ were thinking…" he admitted, somewhat hesitantly.

"And?" Would I tell him whatever he asked now, no secrets barred?

"I was wishing that I could believe that you were real." I felt a pang of despair at his gloomy tone. "I'm afraid—"

"I don't want you to be afraid," I breathed. His fear was needless, and contrary to the inexcusable behavior I'd exhibited half an hour ago, I was firmly in control now.

"That's not the kind of fear I meant."

I propped myself on my elbow, and our faces were inches apart. This time, my sudden movement hadn't scared him. He stared back, eyes swimming, heart and respiration rates increased. I could feel the warmth of blood, flooding under his skin. I wanted to understand what he meant—the anticipation of it was overwhelming. Here he was—admitting fear to _something_. It was insanity to think that Beau was completely and totally without fear, _especially_ in my presence, but up until now, I had to admit, he'd done a very good job of hiding it. And now, for whatever reason, he was allowing that veil to fall.

"Then what are you afraid of?" I was desperate to know.

He didn't answer, only staring for a moment longer. And then, in a movement that was far too quick for me—a vampire who saw all things—he leaned toward me.

His scent flared like wildfire across my face and down my throat, burning radiantly in my chest. His breath washed, unbearably sweet, across my face. The skin along the column of his neck stretched, the pulse of his blood visible in the blood vessels in his throat…

I was twenty feet away from him by the time he realized I was gone.

More than the hunting instinct, more than the song his blood sang to me, had been the other yearning, the other craving, that had me leaning in too, for the fraction of a second it had taken me to withdraw myself.

I stared across the meadow at him, from where I stood safely in the shade of the trees. He sat unmoving, his hands still poised in the same position they had been when I'd been sitting under them.

"Edythe," he whispered hoarsely, "I'm… sorry."

"Give me a moment," I requested, loud enough for his human ears to hear.

He did.

I took ten seconds to ensure that the danger had passed, to allow the hunting reflexes to fade, and then I walked back to him. I sat six feet away from him, folding my legs underneath me just when I could feel the heat of his skin touch my own. I watched his face carefully, expecting the fear, but not finding any.

I took two, deep mouthfuls of his fragrance, searing the inside of my throat and lungs, claiming dominion over the realm of my thirst. _I_ was in charge. _I_ was in _control_.

"I am so very sorry," I apologized to him, "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?" True, it was not quite an appropriate analogy, but it got the point across just the same.

He nodded wordlessly.

I'd done it. I'd finally done it. I'd frightened him. He sat frozen, eyes staring wide into mine, like a bird locked in the gaze of a snake. I could smell the adrenaline in his perspiration from where I sat.

I felt my mouth twist into a mordant smile. Whether it had been the fact that the day's tensions had finally been too much for me and I'd snapped, or whether it was that I simply wanted to unhinge myself from all the facades and the charades I was still keeping, I decided to embrace the sudden desire—the aberrant, sickening desire—to truly show him the depth of what it meant to be the animal I was. To truly make him understand _just how dangerous I was._

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I?" I said in a low, calculating voice, "Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my face, even my _smell_. As if I needed any of that!"

I leaped up to demonstrate the full power of my speed, circling the meadow in half a second and coming to a stand-still next to the tree I'd retreated to. He'd blinked and I was gone.

"As if you could outrun me."

I pushed off the ground, hard, feeling it crumble slightly under my force, and soared thirteen feet into the air. I gripped a two-foot-thick branch and twisted it away from the trunk effortlessly—like snapping an uncooked spaghetti noodle in half. I fell back to the earth, landing on the balls of my feet. I paused just long enough to make sure he saw me holding the giant branch—as tall as myself, and just as wide—with as much effort as it would take for him to hold a pencil. I wasn't one for feats of strength—I usually left that up to Eleanor—but I was proving a point, here.

I gripped the branch in one hand and swung it underhanded at the tree I'd ripped it from.

Both elements splintered with a sound like thunder, and I smelled the unearthing dirt, the fresh, pulpy wood. Before the tree could timber, I flitted back toward him, stopping when I was two feet away.

"As if you could fight me off." My emotions betrayed me, and some of the tenderness bled through. I didn't _want_ to picture that particular situation.

Behind me, the tree crashed to the ground, roots un-anchoring, wildlife scattering.

Beau sat where I'd left him, sallow and frozen with fear. He did not shout, he did not attempt to flee, and even though I couldn't read his thoughts, I knew exactly what he must have been thinking. The terror on his face broke me from my strange, maniacal trance, and I came back to myself.

The remorse and the despair lanced through me, and everything in me dropped into blackness. What had I done? How many promises had I broken to him in this one small moment? I had promised not to scare him, and here he sat at my feet, petrified.

I could not fathom what had possessed me.

He moved then, scrambling to his knees, one hand extended toward me.

I held out my hand to stop him. I didn't quite trust myself yet. "Wait," I pleaded.

He waited.

I took a careful step toward him, eyes fixed on his, waiting for him to recoil. "Don't be afraid," I begged—wanting, more than anything, in this moment for him to trust me. No matter how little I deserved that trust, now. "I promise…" No, a promise was not enough. Promises could be broken. "I _swear_ I will not hurt you. You don't have to be afraid."

I took another measured step forward. Lightly, in a gesture I hoped would reassure, I touched the hand he still extended toward me. But he moved now, winding his fingers around mine and holding tightly—even with such a contrast in our measures of strength, I knew that he was holding onto my hand with as much vigor as he could summon.

"Please forgive me," I continued to plead, because he had not spoken yet, "I can control myself. You caught me off guard. I'm on my best behavior now."

I waited, but he merely stared up into my face from where he knelt in front of me, his face completely blank—due to the fear this time, I was _sure_ now.

He was still silent, so I attempted a different avenue of persuasion. "I'm not thirsty today, honestly," I joked, and threw in a wink for good measure.

Thank the stars—he laughed. It sounded a little breathless, but at least he laughed, at least he'd broken the long, tense silence. The icy fear in his eyes melted, and his gaze was lucid once more.

"Are you all right?" I reached out carefully to put my other hand on top of his. I still felt awful for the way I'd scared him, and I searched his face for the answer. But he looked away from my eyes, down at our interlocked hands. Then he lifted them to mine once more, and he _smiled_. A smile so brilliant, so at ease and joyful, that my own answering smile was automatic, unconscious. If he was happy, I was happy.

Deliberately slowly, I lowered myself back into the grass beside him, making sure he was aware of each of my movements, doing my best not to scare him again.

When we were close enough to share his heat, his knees pressed against mine, hands wrapped together between us, I spoke again.

"So where were we, before I behaved so rudely?"

"I honestly have no idea." His voice was still blank with shock.

Shame flooded through me, but I worked to smile, to rebuild our conversation to what it had been, before I'd terrified him so badly he'd turned into a statue.

People thought there were only two options in the infamous 'fight or flight' instinct. But what many didn't know, was that there was a third, entirely insufficient, option. To freeze.

"I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."

"Oh, right," he remembered.

"Well?" I urged.

He lowered his gaze, twisting our hands so that mine was on top. The sunlight shattered off my skin, scattering prisms of color over Beau's.

"How easily frustrated I am," I complained when he didn't answer.

Then his eyes lifted to mine, and there was a new emotion in them. "I was afraid," he relented, "because for, well, obvious reasons, I probably can't _stay_ with you, can I? And that's what I want, much more than I should."

If he asked me to stay, I would. If it was what he wanted. I had not done a very good job of denying the boy his desires in the past. And besides, it was what I wanted more than anything else on this entire planet. Nothing, _nothing_ could replace the joy, the vitality, the bravery or the peace that loving this boy brought me. And it was selfish of me, I knew, but I wasn't going anywhere.

I devised a way to answer judiciously. "Yes," I said, knowing we could agree on one thing, "Being with me has never been in your best interest."

The corners of his lips drooped attractively in a pout.

"I should have left that first day and not come back. I should leave now." I shook my head to myself, knowing I wasn't going anywhere. I _couldn't_. "I might have been able to do it then. I don't know how to do it now."

"Don't. Please." His voice was full of such wistful sadness, it struck me like a physical blow.

"Don't worry. I'm essentially a selfish creature," I admitted, "I crave your company too much to do what I should."

"Good!" he enthused.

Anger flared again at his reckless lack of fear. _Even_ after what had just occurred. Did he forget so easily? Gently, I unwound my fingers from his, and folded my arms over my chest, afraid of what my temper would do to my strength.

"You should never forget that it's not only your company that I crave. Never forget that I am more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else." I gazed into the shadows of the forest, mulling this over. Was this part of the equation essential for him to know? Surely it would send him running, crashing through the forest. Surely, he would not stay when the full truth was revealed.

"I don't think I understand exactly what you mean by that last part," he said softly.

"How do I explain?" I mused aloud, "And without horrifying you?"

Though I did not deserve it, I put my hand back in his, desperate for that anchor now, to ease the passage of this unforgiving truth. He squeezed my fingers in response, and the warmth permeated my skin without pause. I glanced down at where our fingers linked.

"That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth."

He didn't say anything, and I took a moment to organize my thoughts. He'd responded well to the food analogy from before—though it was extremely ill-placed in this situation; or, rather, _well_ -placed, depending on the viewpoint.

"You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?" I began, "Some people love chocolate ice cream, others prefer strawberry?"

He nodded.

"I apologize for the food analogy," I interjected, "I couldn't think of another way to explain."

He grinned, unbothered, and my smile automatically mirrored his, though the contriteness was apparent on my face—I could feel it.

I continued. "You see, every person has their own scent, their own essence… If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, she'd drink it. But she could resist, if she wished to, if she were a recovering alcoholic." Did he draw the parallel of my story? How could he? He did not know my history. "Now let's say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old brandy, the rarest, finest cognac—and filled the room with its warm aroma—how do you think our alcoholic would fare then?"

I stared into his gaze, willing him to understand, attempting to read the emotions there as they played out. But as always, Beau's eyes were fathomless pools, and I could not see past them.

I wondered about my analogy, whether it had been appropriate or not.

"Maybe that's not the right comparison," I second-guessed myself. Alcoholism—what I'd learned of it from the human mind—was an escapism, an anesthetic to soothe the wounds. Drug use had always been held in higher esteem, a way to vault oneself into a higher state of being, chasing the high, hunting down that moment of intense supremacy. "Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the brandy. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic a heroin addict instead."

"So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin?" His tone was good-natured, and he smiled unflinchingly.

I was exceedingly impressed with his wise assumption. Grateful for it. "Yes, you are _exactly_ my brand of heroin."

"Does that happen often?" he enquired.

I looked away again, thinking back on the conversations I'd had with each of my sisters. I couldn't answer with much confidence, but I did have their experiences to go off of. "To Jessamine, every one of you is much the same. She's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for her to abstain at all. She hadn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell, in flavor." I flinched and looked quickly to his face for a response. My words had come unthinkingly. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." And truly, he appeared unaffected. "Look, don't worry about offending me, or horrifying me, or whatever. That's the way you think. I can understand it, or I can try to at least. Just explain however it makes sense to you."

Right. Like I was going to stop worrying about _that_ anytime soon.

I drew a breath, and we sat close enough that his fragrance felt like a white-hot branding iron in my throat. I focused on that, on the burning, on the response, on my power over it.

"So Jessamine wasn't sure if she'd ever come across someone who was as—" I hesitated, pondering over how best to phrase it, "— _appealing_ as you are to me. Which makes me think not. She would remember _this_." I gauged his face for another reaction. He stayed expressionless, eyes fixed, unmoving, on my face. I looked away again. It was easier to discuss this particular subject while avoiding eye contact. "El has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and she understood what I meant. She says twice, for her, once stronger than the other."

"And for you?" he urged.

"Never before this."

Our eyes locked, and a long moment of silence passed between us. I attempted to see past the mirror in his eyes, in order to ascertain his true feelings. But, as always, I could perceive nothing.

"What did Eleanor do?" he finally asked.

I cringed, recalling her remembered experience. I turned my face away and locked my body down, in case it wanted to respond reflexively to El's evoked occurrence. A country lane at dusk, the sky streaked with lavender and auburn ribbons. The heavy, fermenting scent of bruised apples, wafting in thick clouds through the air. The sudden night breeze that blew the sheets the woman had been hanging on the line out like sails. The way her scent had fanned across El's face, and her entirely unconscious response—she hadn't thought twice about the repercussions…

"Okay, so I guess that was a dumb question," he said now, pulling me from my reverie before the memory of El's disaster could grow more explicit.

He understood my un-answer, and suddenly I regretted sharing her story. Eleanor was one of the very few who had ever attempted to curb her appetite for human blood. She tried very, very hard, and I was suddenly anxious that I had cast her in an unseemly light.

"Even the strongest of us fall off the wagon, don't we?" I wanted him to see that, to decide that El wasn't a bad person because she had made a mistake. She battled her nature every day, striving for a life she wanted to be worthy of. Wasn't that enough?

"Are you… asking for my permission?" he whispered, and then he visibly shivered.

Shock nearly bowled me over. " _No_!" Remorse impaled me, and I felt horrible for the horrifying misconstrument.

"But you're saying there's no hope, right?"

Anger flared, but not for Beau. For Archie—for the way he was so resigned to the way he saw the future playing out. For myself—for all the mistakes I had already made. For the lack of my own strength… "Of course there's hope. Of course I won't…" My words trailed off, but I hoped with a searing intensity that he would understand. "El…" I grappled for someway in which to redeem her character, "These were strangers she happened across. It was a long time ago. She wasn't as practiced, as careful as she is now. And she's never been as good at this as I am."

It was cruel of me, to take her down a peg, but I had to insure that he knew I would not hurt him.

"So if we'd met… oh, in a dark alley or something…"

The inevitable would have undoubtedly taken place. The next confession fell from my lips easier than I thought it would have. "It took everything I had—every single year of practice and sacrifice and effort—not to jump up in the middle of that class full of children and—" I clenched my jaw, fracturing the sentence in half. I would not subject him to those horrors. "When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Carine has built for us, right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last… too many years, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself."

I stared into his eyes execrably, full of shame, watching the recall flash behind them—watching the savage animal I'd been come to life, once more, in his memories.

"You must have thought I was possessed," I murmured morosely.

"I couldn't understand why," he admitted, "How you could hate me, just like that…"

"To me, it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me." The words came tumbling out, a great release, and for a moment, my guard was completely down, his horror laid aside in favor of confessing the full nature of my sins, "The fragrance coming off your skin… I thought it would make me deranged that first day. In that one hour, I thought of a hundred different ways to lure you from the room with me, to get you alone. And I fought them each back, thinking of my family, what I could do to them. I had to run out, to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow…"

 _"Hello, my name is Edythe Cullen. Can I show you to your next class?"_

I gathered the strength to hoist the unbearable weight of my reprehensible gaze to his.

"You would have come." I knew this—even before I'd been made aware of his severely misplaced fascination, I knew I would have cajoled and sweet-talked and influenced enough for him to follow. He would not have been able to resist my predator's lure.

"No doubt about it." His voice was calm, but the color in his eyes trembled, belying his true apprehension.

I cast my gaze away, the pain of that possibility too much to bear while looking into his eyes. "And then, as I tried to rearrange my schedule in a pointless attempt to avoid you," I continued, unable to stop the flow now. I had begun, and I would have to continue until my offenses were fully revealed, "there you were—in that close, warm little room, the scent was maddening. I so very nearly took you then. There was only one other frail human there—so easily dealt with. But I resisted. I don't know how. I forced myself _not_ to wait for you, _not_ to follow you from the school. It was easier outside, when I couldn't smell you anymore, to think clearly, to make the right decision. I left the others near home—I was too ashamed to tell them how weak I was, they only knew something was very wrong—and then I went straight to Carine, at the hospital, to tell her I was leaving."

The memories of this very long, very influential day overtook me, and as I spoke, I drifted back in time, watching the entire discourse from above, as a spectator—an audience to my own burning depravity.

"I traded cars with her—she had a full tank of gas and I was afraid to stop. I didn't dare to go home, to face Earnest. He wouldn't have let me go without a fight. He would have tried to convince me that it wasn't necessary… By the next morning, I was in Alaska." I paused, filled with guilt and disgrace. Still, now, I did not understand the weight of my oppression. To admit my lack of strength was painfully difficult. "I spent two days there, with some old acquaintances… but I was homesick. I hated knowing I'd upset Earnest, and the rest of them, my adopted family. In the pure air of the mountains it was hard to believe you were so irresistible. I convinced myself it was weak to run away. I'd dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude, not even close, but I was strong. Who were you, an insignificant human boy—" I took a moment to grin at the insanity of the phrase. Beau was _anything_ but insignificant. In fact, he was the most significant part of my existence, now. "—to chase me from the place I wanted to be? Ah, the deadly sin of pride… So I came back.

"I took precautions, hunting, feeding more than usual before seeing you again. I was sure that I was strong enough to treat you like any other human. I was arrogant about that.

It was unquestionably a complication that I couldn't simply read your thoughts to know what your reaction was to me. I wasn't used to having to go to such circuitous measures, listening to your words in Jeremy's mind… His mind isn't very original, and it was annoying to have to stoop to that. And then I couldn't know if you really meant what you were saying, or just saying what you thought your audience wanted to hear. It was all extremely irritating." I paused, frowning, remembering the interim of time I had spent watching Beau from afar—infatuated, even then, by his uniqueness, his maturity, his kindness… How desperately I had desired his non-deserved trust.

"I wanted you to forget my behavior that first day, if possible, so I tried to talk with you like I would with any person. I was eager, actually, hoping to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expressions… and every now and then you would move and the air would stir around you… The scent would stun me again…" And I would have to battle back the caged animal, time after time. The strenuous endeavor would have exhausted a mortal.

"Of course, then you were nearly crushed to death in front of my eyes. Later I thought of a perfectly good excuse for why I acted at that moment—because if I hadn't saved you, if your blood had been spilled there in front of me, I don't think I could have stopped myself from exposing us for what we are. But I only thought of that excuse later. At the time, all I could think was, _Not him._ "

I shut my eyes, overcome with the tense anxiety, the crushing despair. The memory was almost too much to bear.

"In the hospital?" he urged, then.

I opened my eyes and stared into his, the memory of the scene in the hallway flaring back. "I was appalled. I couldn't believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power— _you_ of all people. As if I needed another motive to kill you." I flinched when the word slipped out, and I felt Beau wince, as well. I pushed forward, desperate to redeem myself, desperate to make him understand this was no longer what I wanted. "But the disaster had the opposite effect. I fought with Royal, El, and Jessamine when they suggested that now was the time… the worst fight we've ever had." I remembered the battle lines that had been drawn, the stand Jessamine had been prepared to make against me… What _I_ had been willing to do… "Carine sided with me, and Archie." I frowned, recalling the ordeal over the visions, and the ensuing denouement to our argument. "Earnest told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay."

I supposed I'd given the element of surprise away. Beau now certainly understood how each of my family members thought of him.

"All that next day I eavesdropped on the minds of everyone you spoke to, shocked that you kept your word. I didn't understand you at all." _You mesmerized me right from the beginning._ "But I knew that I couldn't become involved with you. I did my very best to stay as far from you as possible." _The feat was more impossibly painful than I could ever have fathomed…_ "And every day the perfume of your skin, your breath… it hit me as hard as the very first day." Though by now, the animal had been shut down—the homicidal urges had abruptly vanished, when I'd turned from killer to protector…

I raised my eyes to his, wanting him to see, to understand my predicament.

"And for all that, I'd have fared better if I _had_ exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here—with no witnesses and nothing to stop me—I were to hurt you."

He didn't comprehend it. "Why?"

"Oh, Beau," I murmured tenderly, glowing joy resonating deep in my stomach, stretching up like rays of sunshine into my throat. I reached up to brush the tips of my fingers across the bird-like structure of his cheekbone—as delicate as if made from spun glass… "Beau," I said again, "I couldn't survive hurting you. You don't know how it's tortured me… The thought of you, still, white, cold… to never see your face turn red again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses… I couldn't bear it." I realized I'd dropped my gaze once more in shame, and I lifted my eyes back to his.

This was the most important truth of all the sins I'd confessed to today. I coveted this boy with an ardor that was horrendously immoral. I did not deserve him as he sat here, holding my hands in his, listening to the story of how I'd wanted him dead, and then, to everybody's surprise—most of all my own—I had fallen completely, entirely, in love with him.

"You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever."

The words had flowed freely, done their job. I had confessed every sin, laid everything at this perfect being's feet. I would leave it up to him, how to decide my fate. No one deserved the authority more, after what I'd put him through.

An eternity of time passed in those quiet few moments. I was completely bare—I had given him every last part of me, had laid it in tattered shreds at his feet. I'd left myself completely exposed to the elements, had opened my heart to the very painful reality of heartbreak.

Beau's fingers tightened around mine. "You already know how I feel." His voice was low and soft, "I'm here because I would rather die with you than live without you." Despite the incredible non-essential risk this human boy was taking, despite the danger it posed to _him_ , despite the absurdity of the entire situation, incomparable joy exploded inside of me, filling my insides with a warmth hotter than sunshine, hotter than the heat of his skin on mine… I was glowing. "Sorry, I'm an idiot."

"You are an idiot," I agreed, and we laughed together.

For just a moment, I laid everything else aside—the danger, the inconvenience, the unrelenting anxiety, the all-consuming impossibility of the entire condition…

For just a moment, I allowed myself to bask in this knowledge—Beau was in love with me.

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb," I murmured tenderly.

"What a stupid lamb," Beau breathed. His eyes were wide and electric.

I exhaled heavily. "What a sick, masochistic lion."

I stared into the trees for a long time. What would become of us? How would our abruptly ensnared futures play out? I hoped for the best, but there was no way of knowing with any degree of certainty… I knew Archie would disagree with this, however… Was I truly damning him, in this moment? Was I entirely eclipsing his chance for a happy, fulfilling life? All for my own selfish gain? And why, then, did this feel so marvelous?

"Why…?" Beau's hesitant question broke me from my reverie.

I turned my eyes back on him, all at once overjoyed. He could ask me anything. I no longer had anything to hide. "Yes?"

"Tell me why you ran away from me before," he requested.

I frowned. "You know why."

"No, I mean, _exactly_ what did I do wrong?" he clarified, "I need to learn how to make this easier for you, what I should and shouldn't do. This, for example"—he dragged his thumb across my wrist, electrifying my deadened heart—"seems to be all right."

It was unreasonable to infer that this was somehow _his_ fault, that it was his responsibility. "You didn't do anything wrong, Beau. It was my fault."

"But I want to help," he persisted.

"Well…" Hadn't I pondered over his lack of astuteness, regarding the preservation of his own life, before? Hadn't I lamented over the fact that I was the sole preserver of his life? Hadn't I wanted him to participate in this conservation? "It was just how close you were," I admitted. "Most humans instinctively shy away from us, are repelled by our alien-ness… I wasn't expecting you to come so close. And the smell of your _throat_ —" I stopped short, mortified. I checked to see how he would react to my slip.

"Okay." He tucked his chin into his chest, until the skin there crowded and overlapped. "No throat exposure."

I grinned gamely. "No, really," I insisted, "It was more the surprise than anything else."

I lifted my free hand, reminding myself to be very gentle, and laid it alongside his neck, feeling the pulse beat against my hand, the rush of blood under his tantalizing skin. I breathed deeply, his scent roasting my throat, but even this was fine. I was expecting it, bracing myself against the assault. I was firmly and entirely in control.

"You see? Perfectly fine."

His heart pounded out a jagged, staccato rhythm. Patches of red bloomed across his face.

"I love that," I mused quietly. Gently, I untangled my other hand from his and lifted it to his face, to carefully brush my hand against the warm patch of blood flood under his cheek. Slowly, I took his face in my hands, aware of just how breakable he was. How appallingly easy it would be to snap his spine, or crush his skull.

 _Carefully,_ I reminded myself, _Carefully_!

This was a test—a trial run of sorts. My mood was higher than I had ever felt it before, and with the joy, came the confidence. Now was better a time than any to try.

"Be very still," I warned him.

He didn't move when I leaned in and pressed my ear to the center of his chest. The heat of his skin burst in waves across my cheeks, down my neck, across the exposed skin of my shoulders and collarbones. It was overwhelming, like sinking into a steaming bubble bath. My skin reacted immediately to the closeness, drinking in his warmth, rising in temperature.

I could feel every outline of lean muscle through the thin material of his t-shirt, surprised at how appealing it was to me, to be able to touch and feel. So soft, and yet firm in a way that wasn't quite firm. And underneath, his sternum, his ribcage—brittle, readily-yielding bones that I reminded myself, were inexorably _breakable_. And deeper still, the steady thudding of his heart. Every pulse hammered against the side of my face, vibrating through my own body.

I wondered, if I could press myself close enough, would his own heart cause mine to beat?

Very deliberately, I smoothed my hands across his broad, handsome shoulders and slid them around his neck—remembering the fragility of his spinal cord—and pressed him close.

I had not stopped breathing all this time, and the fragrance coming off his skin was scandalous. It burned my throat with a higher concentration than I'd ever felt before, and I swallowed back the reflexive flooding of venom. Tantalizing, delicious… But when I thought these words, they were not only in reference to the fragrance of his blood.

I had to work to keep my breath even, using the metronome of his heartbeat to guide me. My skin was on fire, every inch of it, even in places where his body did not touch mine. The whirling, swooning feelings overtook me, and I focused on these, instead of the thirst.

Such desire rivaled that of the bloodlust, and I was surprised at its strength. It rendered me weak and wrought through with thrilling pleasure.

I kept him pressed to me for ten, then fifteen minutes, before I finally pulled back to look at him.

"It won't be so hard again." I was sure.

"Was that very hard for you?" he questioned. There was no trace of fear, not on his face, not in his voice.

"Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be," I confided. "And you?"

"No, that wasn't… bad for me." I caught the inferred meaning in his words, and smiled at the implication behind it.

"Here." I pulled his hand out of his lap without even thinking—it was getting easier to touch him, now that I had figured out the mechanics of it—and pressed it against my cheek. His body heat had permeated my skin, and I was warmer now. Possibly, I wouldn't be _so_ repulsive to the touch anymore. "Do you feel how warm you've made me?"

But he didn't respond. His eyes were wide, glossy, lips slightly parted. His breaths burst in warm pants across my cheeks.

"Don't move," he breathed.

It was my turn to keep still, and I was much better at playing statue than Beau had been. I let my eyelids flutter shut in a way that felt natural, and locked down my muscles.

I heard and smelt the whisper of air as his hand stirred it, consciously slowly I thought, and then he softly stroked my cheek, trailing fire across my face as his fingers grazed my eyelids, the hollows underneath them, down my nose, and traced the shape of my lips.

Everywhere he touched me tingled with a strange, electrifying sensation. As if I were on fire, but could feel none of the resulting pain. Instead of pain, there was pleasure. Pleasure so intense I was sure I had never, and would never again, feel anything else like it.

And as the fire spread like wildfire down my neck, across my shoulders, and down into my belly, my body reacted in kind. If I had been human, my heart would be galloping. My breath, however, sped, and I parted my lips to accommodate it.

I breathed his scent in greedily, tasting its sweetness on the back of my tongue.

He was being courteously slow as his hands slid down my neck and came to rest on my shoulders. His thumbs followed the curve of my collarbones, and if I could have shivered, I would have.

His touch was awakening in me aches that were acutely pleasurable, pains that weren't pains at all, yearnings that went deeper than instinct, deeper than thirst, deeper than reason…

I felt his hands slip around my shoulders to my back, down across my shoulder blades, across my ribs, and folding over to wrap around my waist. The heat of his palms sunk through the thin cotton of my tank top, scalding my skin in a stinging, delightful way. I felt him pull against me, and I leaned in, giving him what he wanted unthinkingly, relaxing into his chest.

I stopped breathing, cautious of the unexpected closeness. Discordant impulses battled for domination, and I could not make sense of them. They built to a bewildering crescendo of cacophony. I remained completely stoic, focusing on the passage of each one through my mind and through my body.

Beau bent his head, pressing his face into the top of my hair for one long second. His breath burst over the crown of my head, saturating my hair with its sweet perfume. He inhaled deeply, and then he released me—mostly, one hand stayed on my arm, trailing feather-light touch down to my wrist—and leaned away.

"Sorry," he apologized.

I might have rolled my eyes, but I was too busy focusing on the strange symphony of sensations taking place inside my body. My head was swimming, and my breath came in jagged bursts. For a moment, if it had been possible, I felt as if I might swoon.

"I wish… I wish that you could feel the… complexity… the confusion… I feel. That you could understand," I breathed.

In a motion that was not quite my own, my hand lifted on its own accord, tracing the shape of his face, and then running quickly through his thick, dark hair.

"Tell me," he whispered hoarsely. His heart was pounding.

"I don't know if I can," I admitted. "You know, on the one hand, the hunger—the thirst—that, being what I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though, as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathize completely," I teased, smirking. "But…" Again, my fingers lifted unconsciously, the tips resting lightly on his lips for just a moment. I so wished… "There are other things I want, other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand myself."

"I might understand that better than you think," he confided.

"I'm not used to feeling so human," I confessed, "Is it always like this?"

"For me?" he asked. "No, never. Never before this."

I put my hands on both sides of his face, imploring with him to understand. If he wanted to share even the most innocent of physical relationships with me, he had to understand my limits, the complexity of the endeavor. I desired it so much, but with the incredible desire, came equal amounts of terror. This was so _new_ , and I didn't know how to process it. "I don't know how to be close to you. I don't know if I can."

His hand lifted, covering my own, and then he leaned very slowly forward, giving me enough time to adjust, and touched his forehead to mine.

"This is enough," he sighed, and shut his eyes.

Whether this was true or not, I didn't know, but I appreciated his gentility anyway. Whether his resolve would stay this way, I didn't know. Would he want _more_ in time? Would I be able to resist?

Today, it didn't seem so. I'd already overcome so much, as the sun had moved across the sky. I was stronger than I had thought.

I brushed my fingers through his hair, stirring up his fragrance. I still felt firmly in control, and so I angled my face up and pressed my lips to the burning skin of his brow. The point of contact tingled in my lips, coursing fervently through my dry veins.

Beau's heart warbled.

"You're a lot better at this than you give yourself credit for," he murmured after a moment.

I leaned back so I could see his face, folding my hands in his again. "I was born with human instincts—they may be buried deep, but they exist."

And it was true, truer than I had hoped for. Letting him hold me in his arms, being close to him, was very easy. An instinct as primal as breathing. It felt completely natural. And though the other reflexes were as present as always, it was far easier to ignore them than I had imagined.

The sun was sinking behind the trees, the shadows of the saplings reaching their fingers toward us. The emotion in his eyes changed, and I read it easily.

"You have to go."

"I thought you couldn't read my mind."

I smiled. "It's getting clearer," I joked.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with euphoria. The enigma of this day was no longer weighing heavily on my shoulders. The sun was setting, and I had not harmed Beau. In fact, I had surpassed all my former expectations of my own strength. For the first time in a very long time, I felt _proud_ of _myself_. More than this, I had shared the entirety of the dirty, awful truth with Beau, and he had taken it completely in stride. The sight of my skin, and then the awful confessions, had not frightened him away. He accepted me for who—and what—I was, and the newfound freedom this unleashed in me was too incredible for words.

I was filled with a sudden exhilaration—he had taken all the depraved parts of my nature with complete non-judgment; now I wanted to share with him the very best parts of what I was. I wanted to share the small piece of exhilaration and excitement and joy I had found when I'd awoken to this new life. There was so much about it that I despised and felt ashamed of. But there were a few things I truly enjoyed. And one of those things was running.

"Can I show you something?"

"Anything." He was immediately receptive.

I grinned, my body alive with elation. "How about a faster way back to the truck?"

His eagerness turned to caution, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

"Don't you want to see how _I_ travel in the forest?" I urged, "I promise it's safe."

"Will you…" He hesitated. "Will you turn into a bat?"

I couldn't help it. The laughter burst forth from my chest, pealing in long notes, echoing off the trees around us. The absolutely astonishing turn this day had taken was amazing. I could _trust_ in myself! I could _believe_ that some part of this impossible fairy tale was _true_.

"Like I haven't heard _that_ one before!" I teased, still giggling.

"Right," he said, "I'm sure you get that all the time."

It was apparent that he was wary, but I jumped to my feet in one smooth motion anyway. He blinked, and then was surprised to find me on my feet. Again, I'd moved too quickly for him to perceive. I couldn't help it. I was suddenly very aware of how _easy_ it was to be myself around him. It was undeniably liberating to free myself of the chains I'd kept myself in for so long. I didn't want to hide from him anymore.

I extended my hand to him and he took it without question. I pulled him to his feet, cautious not to dislocate his elbow or his shoulder. Then I wheeled and glanced at him over my shoulder.

"Climb on my back."

He balked, eyes widening. Beguiling, adorable confusion crossed his features. "Huh?"

"Don't be a coward, Beau," I baited, still giddy, "I promise this won't hurt."

I waited, but he didn't move. His eyes traced the narrow lines of my back.

"Edythe, I don't… I mean, _how_?"

He could _not_ be this astute. The Beau I knew was far more intelligent than this. I turned back to face him, cocking an eyebrow sarcastically. "Surely you're familiar with the concept of a piggyback ride?"

He shrugged, going suddenly red in the face. "Sure, but…"

"What's the problem, then?"

"Well… you're so _small_ ," he said.

I sighed in exasperation. So not only had my ability to stop a van not been enough to convince him, but neither had my hauling his drooping, half-syncopied self halfway across campus, nor the way I could effortlessly stop him in his tracks, nor the instance when, just a few hours ago, I'd wrenched a two-foot-thick tree branch from a pine and had smashed both in half _one handed_!

I sprinted across the meadow and into the woods. Finding what I was looking for, I gripped the rough stone boulder half the height of my own stature, and jerked it from the earth. In another instant, I was back at his side, balancing it on one palm.

I tilted my head to the side. _How's this for small?_

"That's not what I meant," he disagreed, though. "I'm not saying you're not _strong_ enough—"

Well, thank whatever God there was for small favors… I flung the oversized rock over my right shoulder. It sailed through the warm, evening air, taking out four towering hemlocks before colliding with another boulder. I heard the splinter of wood and the fracture of stone detonate behind me.

" _Obviously_ ," Beau continued, "But I… How would I fit?" He glanced first down at his own body, and then over to mine. True, I was much shorter than he was, and the width of my waist was little more than half the size of his, but that didn't matter. It might come as a surprise to him, but physics were of little consequence when it came to the mechanics of vampirism.

I turned around again. "Trust me," I urged.

In strange, awkward motions, Beau slung his arms over my shoulders, enveloping me not only with his scent, but with his body, itself. His chest pressed to my back, and his carotid artery thumped beautifully at my left ear.

"Come on," I huffed impatiently. I reached back with one hand, hooking it behind his denim-clad knee and hitched it up over my hip.

"Whoa!" he complained, but I was already pulling his other leg into position, wrapping their lengths around my waist.

I was surprised by the sensations that coursed through me, feeling his limbs entangled around me, his heart thumping against my back, the way his heat created a cloud of warmth around me. It felt very natural, and even vitalizing.

"Am I hurting you?" he worried.

I rolled my eyes. " _Please_ , Beau." Without thinking, I gripped his hand and pressed his palm over my nose and lips. I inhaled deeply. The combination of his fragrance and warmth and closeness were overwhelming. My head spun intoxicatingly. All at once, I felt simultaneously woozy and fortified. To my great surprise, these feelings were of greater strength than the thirst.

"Easier all the time," I conceded, and then I lurched forward, sprinting at vampiric speed into the trees ringing the small meadow, fading in the sunset. At least, it would be that way to Beau's eyes. I could still see with perfect clarity. Nighttime colors simply changed. From blue to indigo, green to navy blue, lilac to deep purple. I could make out every vein in every leaf on every tree. Every tree root, every small, skittish animal that fled in my wake.

Of course, somewhere in the back of my mind I paid attention to my course, watching for tree roots and tree branches and any other obstacles, but this act was unconscious, second-nature.

I was _really_ thinking of all the successes of the day, how close I'd been able to get to him without destroying him… And more than that, I had _enjoyed_ it, I had wanted _more_ …

To think, I had held his hand to my face just a moment ago, and the thirst I had assumed would ensue had barely touched the atmosphere of my elation. His ulnar artery had been inches from my teeth, and yet, the physical closeness of his skin, the softness, a scent that had nothing to do with bloodlust… These had been the sensations I'd focused on more.

Part of me ached to be able to press my lips to every inch of him. The beautiful curvature of his face, his jaw, his cheekbones, the eyelids over those gorgeous blue eyes, his throat… His lips…

Could I?

And suddenly it occurred to me that _this_ was what Archie had been hiding from me. He'd seen this happening. He'd told me the day would be significant in _many_ ways. Was this new step in our physical relationship what he'd seen?

Of course, I would enjoy the nature of Beau's relationship and mine whether physical affection was a part of it or not, but I was immensely surprised to find that I wanted it. I desired this intimacy with an acute ache that was so deep, it made the petrified muscles deep in my belly clench and warm.

In no time at all—fifty times faster than it had taken us to get to the meadow—we arrived at the truck.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" I asked him once I'd stopped, waiting for him to climb down.

He didn't move, and he didn't speak.

Panic reared its horrific head. "Beau?" My voice was anxious. I couldn't see his face, his eyes, so I didn't know what he might be possibly experiencing. Obviously no human had ever travelled at such a speed before. Had I harmed him, somehow?

But I could feel him gripping me, his palms slick with perspiration, and his breath was bursting in shallow, hot gasps along the back of my exposed neck.

"I might need to lie down," he finally blurted weakly.

"Oh. I'm sorry," I apologized, still anxious. I waited for him to release his hold on me. It took a couple more seconds, but finally he peeled his fingers off of me. Once his fingers released, everything else relaxed, and he staggered, half-falling off my back. I turned before he'd hit the ground, and he staggered a few feet before completely losing his footing, coming to fall hard on his behind.

More than the clumsy, awkward fall, the disorientation on his face had me biting back laughter. I held out my hand, to help him to his feet, but he didn't take it. Instead, he stayed on the ground, and ducked his head until it was hanging between his knees.

First the blood typing, and now this. Apparently, Beau's vasovagal system was _not_ up to the task of very many things.

I knelt beside him and touched a hand to the back of his damp neck. Decades in the field of half-nursing—I say half because I only ever participated in the remedies that did not include blood—and the two medical degrees I'd pertained under disguise, told me the coolness of my skin would help.

For once, I was not ashamed of the difference in our temperature.

"I guess that wasn't the best idea," I murmured, waiting for him to recover.

"No," he argued, but his voice was muted and shaky, "it was very interesting."

"Hah! You're as white as a ghost!" I appraised his stricken profile, his head still hanging between his knees, and rephrased: "No, worse, you're as white as _me_!" There was not a stitch of exaggeration in my conclusion.

"I think I should have closed my eyes," he murmured.

"Remember that next time," I urged. Despite his reaction, I just _had_ to do that again.

But his head jerked up, and the blue in his eyes was swimming with shock and fear. "Next time?"

I only laughed, having known his reaction would have been something of that sort.

"Show-off," he muttered lowly, dropping his head again. But his words were of stronger conviction, and some of the color was returning to his face. Ah, he would be fine in a moment.

I gave him thirty more seconds, focusing on the proximity of our bodies. I wanted to be closer to him still; I wanted to distract him from his discomfiture. All of the cravings and the yearnings I had recently been acquainting myself with came rushing back.

Now was as perfect a time as ever.

I doubted I could put it off any longer. Every inch of my body sang with the anticipation of it, every part of me braced for it—but it was of a different nature, now. No longer did my body lock down in fear of the coming bloodlust. Instead, my muscles strained, reaching forward to the magnetic pull he possessed.

I leaned in, inhaling his scent, testing myself. I was still in control.

Reckless and high on exhilaration, I didn't give myself time to wonder whether this was a bad idea or not. In this moment, there was nothing I wanted more.

"Look at me, Beau," I murmured.

He lifted his head and exhaled into my face. His puff of hot breath fanned over my cheeks, and I breathed it in. Could any other person, mortal or immortal, look more delicious in this moment?

Eyes so blue they stunned, complexion so utterly perfect, skin so soft, lips so perfectly shaped and smooth… I wanted to brush my own lips against them, to taste the succulent fragrance coming off of his skin.

My breath was shallow, quiet and rapid. My fingers tingled with a strange disquiet.

"I was thinking, while I was running—" I began.

"About not hitting trees, I hope," he interjected, breathless. Hmm… He'd been breathing slowly and evenly a moment ago… Could I hope it was my closeness that did this to him? I, too, felt breathless. Breathless in reaction to his luminosity.

"Silly Beau," I crooned, "Running is second nature to me. It's not something I have to think about."

"Show-off," he repeated, but the insult held significantly less condemnation this time. His eyes flickered back and forth between my eyes and lips. Could he want what I was hoping for? Just the other night, he'd asked for this very thing…

"No, I was thinking there was something I wanted to try."

I took his face in my hands, and took pause. His panting breaths burst across my face and down my airways, but I was still firmly self-possessed. So I leaned in, slowly, acutely aware of every shift in my inner-atmosphere. As the distance closed between us, the potency of his taste in the air between us grew—there was a thick layer of it on the back of my tongue, coating my throat, the way candy-floss might coat his own mouth. So sweet, was his scent, so absolutely delicious.

And then, so very, very softly, aware that I could bruise him so easily, or break his nose, or fracture his cheekbone, I pressed my cold, stone lips to the very soft, receptive warmth of his own.

Euphoria flooded through me, fire—on my hands and lips, flooding over me, into me, out of me. So _this_ was what it felt like.

And then, Beau lost control.

His heart rocketed into high gear, pushing the blood through his veins at a rapid rate. It flooded the capillaries under his skin, and heat burst against my face, against my mouth, where his lips exploded with fire. His hands wound through the long strands of my hair, pulling himself closer to me, his breath bursting in ragged, full-bodied pants against my lips.

I inhaled fire, and I froze. I locked my jaw against every wild, animalistic urge that grappled for dominance inside of me. The urge to return the fervor, to crush my chest to his, to suck in the fragrance of him greedily, to loop my arms around his shoulders and kiss his jaw, his throat, to open my mouth and feel the heat of his skin against my tongue, the back of my throat, to pierce that delicate skin and sooth the burning in my throat with the lake of his blood…

I didn't know what kind of control possessed me in that moment. But, somehow, peculiarly, I had enough wit to measure the velocity and strength of my hands, to gently push his face back in order to clear some distance between us.

I held him inches from my face, restraining his wild reactions, forcing down each incongruous impulse. One by one, I pegged them with arrows of truth. _I love you. I will not hurt you. Your life is tied to mine. You_ are _my life._

"Whoops," he breathed.

I felt the heat of the breath that blew across my face, but I did not inhale it. I waited for the raucous hurricane inside me to calm. _Your life is precious. Your father loves you. Your mother adores you._

"That's an understatement."

I focused on the light in his eyes, the beautiful storm raging there—passion, excitement, ardor, embarrassment, retribution.

"Should I…?" he said, and attempted to untangle himself. But I held him still, as I slowly regained my composure.

"No," I said, "It's tolerable. Wait a moment, please."

Gradually, each urge fell to the wayside. The flowing venom that saturated my mouth slowed. My muscles relaxed. The fire in my belly extinguished itself.

I grinned as the flames gradually smothered themselves out. "There," I said, pleased with myself.

I was the master of this dominion. I would _not_ allow my thirst to control me. This, now, was proof that I could do the insufferable. I could claim authority over my demons. I could control my impulses. I did not have to be the monster I feared.

"Tolerable?"

I laughed, overjoyed, basking in my self-control. "I'm stronger than I thought. It's nice to know."

"And I'm not. Sorry."

His eyes burned with viridian fire, passionate and tantalizing.

"You _are_ only human, after all."

He sighed. "Yeah." Something in his voice made me think he was… Sad.

I released his face and unwound his fingers from my hair. Then I stood, holding my hand out for him. He took it this time, and pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled when he took a step away from me, and I reached out to steady him.

"Are you still reeling from the run, or was it my kissing expertise?" I teased. At once, I was overwhelmed with happiness. Today, I was victorious over my own sinful nature, and I laughed out loud. Maybe I could find a way to redeem myself. Maybe this was the beginning. Beau's life, it gave me courage. It gave me peace. It gave me hope.

"Both," he answered now, and I grinned.

"Maybe you should let me drive," I offered. This, I was serious about.

"Uh," he hesitated, "I think I've had enough of your need for speed today…"

"I can drive better than you on your best day," I assured him, "You have much slower reflexes."

"I believe you, but I don't think my truck could handle your driving."

"Some trust, please, Beau," I supplicated. As much as it _physically pained me_ to drive slowly, I would not push his truck past what it could handle.

He slipped his long, pale hand into his pocket to fist it around the key possessively. "Nope. Not a chance."

Sometimes I forgot how deliciously stubborn Beau could be—strange, how that was, when I had a one-hundred percent recall. I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise. Really, would he make me wrestle the key out of his grasp? I was not going to let him drive in this condition. We'd already done this once before.

I reached out to snatch a wad of his t-shirt in my fingers and tugged him to me. He staggered, his feet lurching underneath him. Just in time, though I would have caught him, he lifted his hand to brace himself against my shoulder. His entire hand overshadowed my shoulder in lovely warmth. I liked the way he towered over me, the way his hands were so much bigger than mine.

"Beau," I chided, "I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I'm not about to let you get behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. Friends don't let friends drive drunk."

"Drunk?" His voice was wrought with opposition.

I stretched up on my toes, sinking into the beautiful lake of his eyes. My face hovered inches from his, and I wanted to kiss him again, but I was worried about his reaction. "You're intoxicated by my very presence." _And I, by yours._ Being this close to him, I could feel the familiar thrumming start up in my body again.

"I can't argue with that," he agreed, sighing. The proclamation filled me with bliss. He lifted the key high above his head, as if to tease me, though I could easily leap the foot of distance and snatch it. But I gave him another second, and he dropped it. I caught the key between two fingers easily.

"Take it easy," he warned, "My truck is a senior citizen."

"Very sensible," I approved.

I released his shirt, resisting the urge to smooth the wrinkled fabric over his warm chest and ducked under the hand that was still braced against my shoulder.

"So you're not affected at all? By my presence?" His voice was disheartened.

His insecurity provoked a tender reaction inside of me. I remembered that he was more unsure about himself than I'd realized. Did he not know how he made me swoon? Was he truly blind to the affect he had on me?

I turned to take his hand, pulling it up to my face. I leaned into his palm, letting my eyes slide shut. For a minute, I reveled in his warmth, the smooth rush of blood in his veins a melody all its own. Slowly, I breathed in.

"Regardless," I hummed, opening my eyes to grin up at him, "I have better reflexes."

 _And, thankfully, a modicum more self-control._

…

 **A/N:** Ah, sweet, sweet first love… This chapter was FULL of emotion—wowie! I didn't realize until I came back and proofread it over. This was one of the chapters I was looking most forward to writing, so I would lovelovelove to know what you thought of it! xo


	14. Mind Over Matter

**A/N:** I think I did pretty well with this chapter… I try really hard to make it about more than just copying the dialogue. Can anyone guess which song Edythe is singing at the beginning? You get a cookie if you get it right! ;) (TBH, it's not hard to guess…)

Song of Inspiration: "Drive" by The Well Pennies

…

Gladness filled my hollow heart.

And what better way to proclaim your gladness, but to sing?

" _Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine? My darling dear—love you all the time…"_

"You like fifties music?"

I glanced over at the object of my affection, my one true love, my Beau. Our hands were twisted together on the bench seat between us, and I drove one-handed. Every so often, the setting sun—streaking the sky with red, orange and blush pink garlands—would shimmer off my skin, and ruby-tinged rainbows would reflect across his face.

"Music in the fifties was good," I informed him, "Much better than the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" I shuddered in revolt. What had come over the music industry in those ten short years had been reprehensible. I was glad for the passage of time, and where it had brought me. "The eighties were bearable."

"Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" he begged.

I smiled at his insatiable curiosity. "Does it matter very much?"

"No," he conceded, "But I want to know everything about you."

"I wonder if it will upset you," I mused under my breath. Would he find it disturbing—would it change how he thought of me? I considered what I knew of Beau's character, and I decided that I doubted this very much.

"Try me," he urged.

I stared into his eyes, trying to ferret out the motive behind his curiosity. But I did not see any apprehension or bracing of any sort. Could it be that he was merely curious? That was all I could comprehend in his eyes… Besides, Beau had heard much scarier things about me than my age…

I sighed, relenting. "I was born in Chicago in 1901." I peeked at him sideways. His face remained unchanged—a mask to hide the shock? "Carine found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and I was dying of the Spanish influenza."

Beau gasped. His sharp inhalation was one of sympathy, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw pain there—pain for me.

Tenderness overwhelmed me.

"I don't remember it very well," I assured him, "It was a long time ago, and human memories fade." My memories of this time, especially before my change, were muddy and unclear. The clearest memories had been the scratchy bed linens… My father's half-crazed emerald eyes, caring for me, even as he died. The conjecture was inevitable to stick with me. Carine had discussed it enough—she had admired his great sacrifice, seeing how much he'd loved me. Enough to sacrifice his own life, in the very slim chance that he would be able to save mine. In truth, I did not survive. In the conventional way, at least. And the pathway to survival had been wrought with pain and torment…

"I do remember how it felt when Carine saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you could forget."

"Your parents?" he queried.

"They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That's why she chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."

"How did she… save you?"

The one question I had hoped he wouldn't ask. But it was elemental to the story. I chose my words carefully, not wanting to bring any undue stress to his mind. He didn't need to know all the gory, horrific details—especially about things he would never experience.

"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carine has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of all of us… I don't think you could find her equal anywhere in history. For me, it was merely very, very painful." Even in sharing that much, I felt I'd said too much. I clenched my jaw against anymore accidental truths I might share. I waited for Beau to ask another question, but it didn't come, so I continued. "She acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Carine's family, though she found Earnest soon after. He fell from a cliff." Again, Beau didn't need to know all of the horrific details. Besides, I would make a better effort, from here on out, to put my family members in a good light. It would be their responsibility whether they wanted to share their darker sides or not. I would not shed any uncomplimentary light on them. "They took him straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, his heart was still beating."

Earnest's injuries had been horrific. Even Carine, who had studied human anatomy night and day for centuries, was appalled that his heart was still beating.

"So you have to be dying, then…" Beau presumed.

"No," I corrected him, "That's just Carine. She would never do that to someone who had another choice, any other choice. It is easier, she says, though, if the heart is weak." I stared ahead at the road, wondering if I'd shared too much on that last part—again.

"And Eleanor and Royal?" he wanted to know.

"Carine brought Royal into our family next. I didn't realize till much later that she was hoping he would be to me what Earnest was to her—she was careful with her thoughts around me." I rolled my eyes at the whole ordeal. "But he was never more than a brother. It was only two years later that he found Eleanor. He was hunting—we were in Appalachia at the time—and found a bear about to finish her off. He carried her back to Carine, more than a hundred miles, afraid he wouldn't be able to do it himself. I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for him."

I gazed into Beau's sweet, tepid eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like, to carry him a hundred miles, all the while streaming blood… I had found a newfound respect for my brother today. I truly did not think I could have done it. Tenderly, I lifted our conjoined hands, brushing the back of his across my face.

"But he made it," he murmured pointedly.

"Yes," I agreed. "He saw something in her face that made him strong enough. And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple." Much to my _severe_ gratitude. The quietness was incomparable. "But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks is perfect in many ways, so we all enrolled in high school." I laughed at the predictive pattern of our story. Time and time again, we replayed these same chapters. "I suppose we'll have to go to the wedding in a few years. Again."

"Archie and Jessamine?" he wondered.

"Archie and Jessamine are two very rare creatures. They both developed a _conscience_ , as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jessamine belonged to another…" I wondered how to phrase it. _Family_ was not the right word, not at all. What made up a family had been in complete absence of the group Jessamine had belonged to. But for the sake of the story, I supposed it would have to do. "A very different kind of family. She became depressed, and she wandered on her own. Archie found her. Like me, he has certain gifts."

"Really?" Beau jumped in eagerly. Archie would like that. "But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."

"That's true. He knows other things. He _sees_ things—things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change." I glanced quickly toward his face, and then away. Yes, things changed. Like how today had ended. Like the fact that I hadn't killed him; that I would _never_ kill him. And the other vision, well, Archie was wrong sometimes. That had to be the explanation. Because, not under any circumstance, would I subject Beau to a half-life of eternal darkness.

"What kinds of things does he see?" Beau pushed.

"He saw Jessamine and knew that she was looking for him before she knew it herself," I illustrated, "He saw Carine, and our family, and they came together to find us. He's most sensitive to non-humans. He always knows, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."

The nature of Archie and Jessamine's relationship had always fascinated me. They'd both come from beginnings of horrendous proportions—Jessamine from the awful bloodbath of the Southern Rebellion; Archie from absolute darkness. He had no idea who had created him, or how his human life had ended. It would be completely reasonable to understand if they'd resigned their lives to the nomadic fashion. With no foundation of compassion or delicacy to lean upon, it was by all means a miracle they'd found their consciences.

As a result, I had always found their relationship had gone much deeper than that of Carine and Earnest, or Royal and El. They shared a bond on a level that was deeper than physical intimacy, deeper than mental, spiritual or emotional compatibility; there were times I swore they could read each others' minds.

"Are there a lot of… your kind?" Beau asked now. I did not miss the way he skipped around the word. I didn't blame him. I avoided speaking it when I could, as well.

"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting people…" I paused to glance worriedly at him, concerned I'd offended him. "…can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there was so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live… differently, tend to band together." I'd gotten myself so wrapped up in my own monologuing that the words spilled naturally from my lips—I did not think of how it might scare him. But his face was impassive, his eyes bright in the changing light. To him, the world around him was darkening. But to me, shadows merely transfigured; colors intensified. I found fresh hues in Beau's eyes that I had not noticed in the light of day.

"And the others?"

"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across others now and then, because most of us prefer the North."

"Why is that?"

I thought it would have been obvious. We were in front of his house now, and I twisted the key in the ignition to kill the engine. Underneath me, the rattling contraption stilled, and it was very quiet in the cab.

"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" I teased. "Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."

I took a minute to think about the fact that the nighttime wouldn't be so bad if I had Beau's eyes to look into.

"So that's where the legends came from?" he guessed.

"Probably."

"And Archie came from another family, like Jessamine?"

"No, and that _is_ a mystery. Archie doesn't remember his human life at all. And he doesn't know who created him. He awoke alone. Whoever made him walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, he could. If Archie hadn't had the other sense, if he hadn't seen Jessamine and Carine and known that he would someday become one of us, he probably would have turned into a total savage."

I was exceedingly grateful for my brother, the one other I had safely been able to call my confidante, my best friend. I truly did not know how I would have gotten by, all these years, without him. I loved all my siblings, but as annoying and overbearing as he could be, Archie was the one I went to, more often than not, when I needed a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, or advice to glean.

We'd driven around town together, studied together, endured many first days of school together. We'd sat in house after house after house, playing our own made up games, driving El nuts with the way we were able to communicate so silently. I remembered the time we'd literally driven her out of the house with our mute conversations. We liked to see how long we could go without talking. Our record had been a week, communicating simply through mind-reading and precognition, though that had been a long time ago, and I was sure we could extend that timeframe significantly now.

Beau's stomach growled just then, and remorse jerked me to attention. How inconsiderate I'd been! Why hadn't it occurred to me that Beau would need to eat halfway through the day—especially after hiking five miles through the uneven woods! I had detained him long enough, and as sorrowful as it would be to part, I would leave him to attend to his needs.

"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."

"I'm fine, really," he insisted.

"I don't spend a lot of time around people who eat food. I forgot," I confessed. A fool's mistake on my part.

"I want to stay with you," he said, his voice quiet and intense. The joy nearly overwhelmed me. I didn't want to leave him, either.

"Can't I come in?"

"Would you like to?"

"Yes, if you don't mind." I would stay with him for as long as he'd have me. I had nowhere else to be.

He smiled at me now, the expression illuminating his entire face. "I do not," he assured me.

We climbed out of the truck together, and then, just because I could, I hurried ahead to retrieve the key from under the eave, unlocked the door, turned on the porch light, and replaced the key in its former residing place, all before Beau could comprehend my movements. Maybe I was boasting, just a little.

I met him at the door after turning on the lights inside, too.

He gazed at me for half a second, standing in the doorway of his father's house, and incomprehensible emotion flitted through his eyes.

Before I could ask about it, he said, "Did I leave that unlocked?"

"No, I used the key from under the eave," I admitted shamelessly. This surely would bring on a host of all sorts of other questions.

He thought about it for a minute, and then he just shrugged.

 _What?_ He was letting it _go_? This unlikelihood was absolutely unheard of!

"You're hungry, right?" I turned and headed toward the kitchen, flicking the light switch on as I stepped through the doorway. I heard Beau's automatic steps behind me. The kitchen was small. A refrigerator, a counter, the sink, a corner cupboard, the stove, and an end counter. The cabinets were painted a sunny yellow color, and the paint was chipping in places. All of the appliances were second hand. The small round table made of dark wood took up the remainder of the space. Four mismatched chairs circled the surface.

Earnest and Archie would have been horrified by the humble state of the room. Kitchens were their specialty. I reminded myself not to invite them here.

I, however, loved it. It was modest, and cozy—bits of Beau, personified.

I took a seat, and then appraised him, standing motionless in the doorway. He was staring at me.

"Eat something, Beau," I reminded him.

He turned to the task at hand, and I was surprised by how fascinating it was to watch him cook. I had never witnessed the small, seemingly insignificant tasks of his daily life. I had never seen him cook, or clean, read a book or do household chores. I drank in his every motion. The way he swayed easily from refrigerator to countertop to microwave. The way his fingers entered in the combination for the contraption with no thought at all.

I drank in the set of the muscles in his back, the way his thin t-shirt clung to his shape, as he stood at the sink, washing the pan he'd just emptied onto the plate that was now revolving in the microwave.

I memorized what I could—the contents of the refrigerator, the scent of the ingredients I could smell in whatever was in the microwave. I didn't know how to cook, but I would certainly be willing to learn—for Beau.

The smell of human food put me off something awful, but it seemed like it smelled good to him. His stomach rumbled again.

"Hmm," I murmured thoughtfully.

"What's that?"

"I'm going to have to do a better job in the future," I surmised.

He laughed, and the carefree, happy sound brought a smile to my own face. "What could you possibly do better than you already do?"

The answer seemed obvious. "Remember that you're human. I should have, I don't know, packed a picnic or something today." Surely, that would have been a refined lady's thing to do. I had not done my etiquette justice this afternoon.

The microwave dinged on the corner counter, and Beau practically dove for the food. The remorse grew. He winced and dropped the plate on the countertop.

"Don't worry about it," he said, but alas, I was.

He unearthed a fork from the drawer by the sink, sawed off a hunk of the slimy, congealed slab, and shoved it in his mouth, chewing hurriedly.

"Does that taste good?" I asked him, curious. He _seemed_ like he was enjoying it, but it didn't look very good to me.

He swallowed the food loudly. "I'm not sure," he answered, "I think I just burned my taste buds off. It tasted good yesterday." He watched me for a minute. I didn't think I could completely mask my expression of distaste. "Do you ever miss food?" he asked, "Ice cream? Peanut butter?"

"I hardly remember food. I couldn't even tell you what my favorites were. It doesn't smell… edible now."

"That's kind of sad," he mused.

"It's not such a huge sacrifice." Not in comparison to other things I wish I could have… Warmth, normalcy, safety… The chance to go through the stages of life alongside Beau, the chance to give him a love that didn't risk his life at any given moment. I wanted to grow old with him, have babies with beautiful cerulean eyes… Alas, it would never come to fruition. All I could offer him was my cold, dead heart—and it hardly seemed like enough. Not when he gave every warm, precious part of himself every minute we were together.

It wasn't _fair_ that he had to risk his very life, and I had to risk _nothing_ of any consequence.

My heart broke for the boy taking a seat across the table from me now. I would never be able to give him what he deserved out of life. It was cruel, cruel fate that had brought us together. The workings of evil demons, twiddling their thumbs, thinking up ways to torture me.

And it wasn't enough that I was in love with him—I could have handled that. But to ensnare him in this volatile, peril-fraught web… It was inexcusable.

Never had I desired humanity more. To be as frail and delicate as Beau was. To live every day with the chance of never waking up again, just so I could hold his hand without fear of fracturing every mandible. So I could kiss him without fear of losing control and tearing him apart.

If I could be a girl, and not a monster, there was a chance that I could be enough… Alas, I was not.

"Do you miss other parts about being human?"

I answered judiciously: "I don't actually _miss_ anything, because I'd have to remember it to be able to miss it, and like I said, my human life is hard to remember." I knew I was being circumspect with my answer. "But there are things I think I'd like. I suppose you could say things I was jealous of."

"Like what?" he asked.

I picked off an easy one, determined to stay on the surface. "Sleep is one. Never-ending consciousness gets tedious. I think I'd enjoy temporary oblivion. It looks interesting." _Oops_. I'd realized I'd made a slip, and I waited with bated breath, for Beau to realize my lapse.

He was very quiet, eating a few bites before answering. "Sounds hard," he simply said, "What do you do all night?"

I hesitated, wondering if he really was feeling so casual, or if he was attempting to ferret out the nature of what I'd mistakenly said. I kept my answer vague, hoping to inch my way around the near-blunder. I knew I would have to confess to my nocturnal reconnoitering sometime, but right now, I was embarrassed at being caught. Would he think badly of me? Would he be angry? And though I didn't fear his wrath by any stretch of the imagination, I did want to avoid displeasing him.

"Do you mean in general?" I hedged.

His eyebrows pulled a fraction of an inch together and then relaxed. _Damn._ I'd said too much… Or, rather, too little. "No, you don't have to be general," he said, "Like, what are you going to do tonight after you leave?"

I hesitated.

"What?"

I wrinkled my nose. I couldn't bring myself to do it—I just couldn't outright lie to him. But I stalled for as long as I could, drawing out the now inevitable. "Do you want a pleasant lie or a possibly disturbing truth?"

"The truth," he decided immediately, but I detected a note of apprehension in his words.

I sighed, relenting. Time to confess, I supposed. "I'll come back here after you and your father are asleep. It's sort of my routine lately."

He blinked, his face going completely blank with shock. His lashes fluttered once, and then again. I waited for the screaming, the shouting, the fainting—oh, sorry, the 'syncopal episode'…

But all he said, somewhat haltingly, was, "You come _here_?"

"Almost every night," I affirmed, for what was the point in hiding anymore? I'd been caught out.

"Why?" He sounded breathless.

I could deny my rapture no longer. "You're interesting when you sleep. You talk."

His jaw unhinged, color flooding into his face. Was it the flush of anger, or embarrassment? Maybe both?

He didn't say anything.

"Are you very angry with me?" I murmured. It was true—I had infringed on his privacy. Not to mention, it was such a creepy, vampire, fan girl thing to do. But I still hadn't heard the answer to my question.

"How do you… Where do you… What did I…?" The three unfinished sentences served a great annoyance for me—or they would have, if I hadn't known that his train of thought had been lost in the sea of now-apparent horror. He was in such distress he could hardly utter a coherent sentence. I knew how he must have felt—mortified, exposed, frightened. But he didn't understand how fascinating a creature he was; he didn't know he had nothing to be embarrassed over. He didn't know he had nothing to be afraid of. He had been in perfectly capable hands while he slept.

I reached out to cup his hot, rosy cheek. "Don't be upset," I pleaded, "I didn't mean any harm. I promise, I was very much in control of myself. If I'd thought there was any danger, I would have left immediately, I just…" And the last part of the sentence came out somewhat quietly, contrite, "…wanted to be where you were." That was truly the simplicity of it.

"I…" he stammered, and then _finally_ , he uttered a sentence I could understand, "That's not what I'm worried about."

"What are you worried about?"

"What did I _say_?"

Unintentionally, I smiled. For he had not been afraid. And as much as it dismayed me to see him in distress, I was relieved that it was simple, petty, human-born mortification that had him all out of sorts. "You miss your mother," I shared, hoping it would help ease his discomfiture, "When it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too _green_.'" I laughed softly in remembrance, conscious that I was attempting to keep his confidence intact.

"Anything else?" Obviously, he had something specific on his mind.

I knew what that something might be, and I surrendered. "You did say my name."

He sighed in resignation. "A lot?"

"Define 'a lot'," I prevaricated.

"Oh no," he moaned.

Without having to think about it, I looped my arms around his neck and eased myself into his chest. His heart pounded out a jagged, uneven rhythm and his skin was flushed and warm with embarrassment. I wanted to comfort him, and I suspected this would help.

Automatically, he wrapped his arms around me.

"Don't be self-conscious," I breathed into his shirt, "You already told me that you dream about me, remember?"

"That's different," he complained, "I knew what I was saying."

"If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it." The confession came effortlessly, for it was true.

He stroked my hair, braiding it through with warmth and the lushness of his scent. I closed my eyes and let him hold me—realizing that this had been impossible to me yesterday. Yes, today _had_ been significant. I would have to thank Archie later.

"I'm not ashamed," he finally whispered into my hair, and my response came without thought.

The low hum of pleasure that was caught somewhere between human and animal, but it felt completely natural to me, slipped from somewhere deep inside my throat. It was a sound of affectionate pleasure, and its utterance didn't embarrass me. I knew that Beau accepted me for what I was, and that freedom gave me the ability to truly express myself without reservation.

I had been so caught up in our embrace, that I hadn't noticed Chief Swan's approaching thoughts. He pulled into the driveway, the lamps of his headlights bursting through the window and down the hall. Beau jumped.

I pulled back cautiously.

"Do you want your father to know I'm here?"

His eyes were tense. "Um…" he hesitated.

"Another time, then…" I conceded.

Not for the first time today, I moved too quickly for Beau to notice, flitting from the kitchen and up the stairs before he knew I'd gone. In his bedroom, with the door shut tight, I reclined on his made-up bed, and stared at the ceiling.

Charlie's thoughts were expectant, but happy. Probably hungry. Judging by the scent I caught, he'd had a successful day at the fishing hole. He turned his key in the already unlocked door and stepped into the house.

"Beau?" he called. It was still unusual for him, to share a house.

"In here," Beau called from the kitchen. His voice broke—he was nervous.

Charlie's footsteps were loud on the worn parquet as he tromped into the kitchen.

"Did you take all the lasagna?"

"Oh, sorry. Here, have some."

"No worries, Beau. I'll make myself a sandwich."

"Sorry."

It was quiet for a few moments, the only sounds Beau's digestive processes, and Charlie's preparation of his own dinner.

The chair creaked as Charlie sat at the table.

They exchanged some small talk about their days, and then Charlie's thoughts turned suspicious. Beau's unusually frenetic mood had triggered wariness. Small town or not, Charlie was a police chief, and he didn't miss this odd change in behavior.

"Got plans for tonight?"

A pause. Through Charlie's eyes, I saw Beau shake his head vigorously, cheeks bulging.

"You look kinda keyed up," he noted.

Beau gulped loudly. "Really?"

 _Very subtle, Beau…_ I thought, rolling my eyes.

"It's Saturday," Charlie said, trying to play it cool, but he wasn't fooling _me_. And that wasn't just because I could read his mind—partially. He was a better actor than Beau, but not by much.

Another non-response from Beau. I looked through Charlie's eyes again, and giggled at the sight of his expression. The wide-eyed bewilderment…

"I guess you're missing that dance tonight," Charlie hinted.

"As intended." Beau's tone wasn't quite casual.

"Sure, dancing, I get it." Some sort of mutual understanding occurred in his mind, and I wondered about that. "But maybe next week—you could take that Newton girl out for dinner or something." I hissed quietly. "Get out of the house. Socialize."

"I told you, she's dating my friend."

"Well, there're lots of other fish in the sea," Charlie murmured.

"Not at the rate you're going."

Charlie laughed good-naturedly. "I do my best…" But the suspicion remained. "So you're not going out tonight?"

"Nowhere to go," Beau said, but the lie was not convincing. Charlie's suspicion grew. "Besides, I'm tired. I'm just going to go to bed early again."

Beau's chair scraped across the worn linoleum, and his footpath crossed the kitchen. Water splashed against ceramic—washing his dishes, I was guessing. That meant he was finished, and expectation welled up inside me. Soon we'd be together again.

"Uh-huh. None of the girls in town are your type, eh?" He was curious—he had to be. He'd heard the rumors of Beau's many admirers, and he wanted his son to be happy.

Another long pause from Beau. Amusement from Charlie, and more suspicion, but this felt different… A distinctive type. I was missing a piece of the puzzle, and I focused once more, staring through Charlie's eyes. I saw where he was looking, at the back of Beau's neck, which was bright red.

Ah. I giggled softly, and had to suppress the urge to run a single finger down the back of his suffused neck.

"Don't be too hard on a small town. I know we don't have the variety of a big city—"

"There's plenty of variety, Dad," Beau insisted, the awkwardness clear in his voice, "Don't worry about me."

Why did he insist on no one worrying about him? He'd said it to his mother in his sleep more than once, and now he was saying it to his father… I had never been more concerned for anyone's well-being than I had been for Beau's. He deserved all the concern in the world.

"Okay, okay." Charlie relented, disappointed. He felt responsible for the distance between him and his son. He wished he'd insisted on more regular visits over the years. He regretted not being closer to Beau. "None of my business anyway."

Beau exhaled, and the running water stopped.

"Well, I'm done. I'll see you in the morning."

"'Night, Beau."

His footfalls were heavy as he headed up the stairs—a little over-exaggerated, I thought. It was like was dragging a dead body behind him.

I grinned widely when he entered his room without seeing me, slammed his door, and dashed to the window clamorously. He shoved the pane out of his way and leaned half of his body out into the night.

"Edythe?" he whispered.

I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to tame the quake in my shoulders from laughing so hard and so silently. "Yes?"

He whirled, hand lashing out to swipe a book off his desk. It thunked on the wooden floor, and downstairs, Charlie jumped.

"Oh!" he gasped. His knees quaked, and he reached out to grip the edge of his desk for support.

"I'm sorry," I apologized automatically. I hadn't meant to startle him, but it _was_ rather amusing.

"Just give me a second to restart my heart," he croaked.

I sat up slowly, even for a human, watching his face. As soon as his heart rate began to regulate, I patted the empty spot next to me, eager to have him close again.

He made his way across the room carefully, and took a seat beside me. I laid my hand over his, barely having to think the motion through. I had been terrified to touch him just a day ago, and now, here I was—doing it without conscious thought! What a long way we'd come! My heart sang with joy.

"How's your heart?" I teased.

"You tell me—I'm sure you hear it better than I do."

I laughed. As always, he was more perceptive than most.

We sat quietly for a moment, and I listened to his galloping heart eventually meander into a more normal pace.

"Can I have a minute to be human?" he asked.

"Certainly," I allowed. He could have _more_ than a minute. I wanted him to have all the time in the world to be human.

He rose from the bed, appearing a little steadier than he had before, and then turned to look down at me. Some impenetrable emotion passed through his eyes.

"You'll be here when I get back, right?"

"I won't move a muscle," I promised. It occurred to me that maybe he thought I was going to leave… Where before I'd been prepared to take haste regarding that action if needed, now I was entirely unable to do so. I would be here as long as he wanted me. To humor him, I locked my muscles down and became completely still.

Only my eyes followed him as he gathered sleeping clothes from the bureau, and then slipped out into the hall, pulling the door behind him.

He slammed the bathroom door, too, probably for Charlie's sake. He brushed his teeth—twice—and the thought of that made me smile. Was he self-conscious about how he might smell around me? The irony was not lost on me.

Charlie heard the commotion in the bathroom upstairs, and his thoughts turned distrustful again. Maybe he thought he was getting ready to go out, after all. To meet up with McKayla Newton at the dance, maybe… Envy rose like the tide inside me—completely unreasonably, because I knew that Beau had chosen me; but still. Though I hated to admit it, McKayla would _always_ be a safer choice for Beau than I undoubtedly was.

Just as Beau was finishing up, Charlie mounted the stairs to check on his son. His evasive thoughts were totally focused on Beau. He didn't suspect there was a girl waiting on his bed in his room.

I heard the bathroom lock disengage and then the door swung open.

"Huh!"

"Oh, sorry, Beau." Charlie was surprised to see him dressed for bed—in a pair of ratty sweats, and a t-shirt. "Didn't mean to scare you." I frowned when, through Charlie's eyes, I saw the decal on the front of the shirt—a pig, smiling elatedly from where it was sandwiched between two buns. Should the big really be so happy to be food?

Beau had obviously been caught off guard. His face was red, and his heart was hiccupping again. He took a steadying breath. "I'm good."

Charlie took in Beau's apparel once more, huffing a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. He was surprised, certainly, but the suspicion wasn't totally eradicated, either.

"You heading to bed, too?" Beau asked his father.

"Yeah, I guess. I've got an early one again tomorrow." Exhaustion was suddenly apparent in Charlie's mind, and I knew that was a contributing factor, but the wariness was still strong. He wanted to keep a closer eye on his son.

"Okay," Beau said, "'Night."

"Yeah."

Charlie watched his son's retreating back, questioning his judgment for a moment, but then decided to stand firm.

The bedroom door opened, and Beau stepped into the room. He looked fresh and cozy in his casual apparel, hair damp around the edges, skin smooth and radiant. How was it possible, I thought again, for one human boy to be so absolutely delectable?

His lips stretched into a pleased smile when he saw me still sitting on the bed, in the same position he'd left me in, and I couldn't help but break my composure. The edges of my lips pulled up in answer to his own happiness. I couldn't resist. Beau pulled me like the moon pulled on the tide. I was helpless to its ensuing lure.

He returned to me, and I swiveled to face him, pulling my legs up to cross them under me.

"I'm not sure how I feel about that shirt," I murmured softly, too quietly for Charlie to hear.

"I can change," he offered.

I rolled my eyes. "Not you wearing it—its entire existence," I explained. And then I brushed my fingers across the joyful pig's face, voicing my earlier thoughts. Beau's pulse spiked when I touched him, and that pleased me.

Beau grinned. "Well, we don't know his side of the story, do we? He might have a reason to smile."

I caught the double-meaning in his words, and again found myself questioning his mental stability.

Beau folded my hand in his, flooding me through with pleasant warmth.

"Your dad thinks you might be sneaking out," I confided to him.

"I know," he replied, "Apparently I look _keyed up_." He repeated his father's earlier words.

I wondered about that. "Are you?" Keyed up, nervous, apprehensive, excited… All of these things could so easily be misconstrued when I didn't have unconscious thought to go off of. Was he really so glad about my staying?

"A little more than that, I think," he said, and delight washed through me once more. _Yes_. He did want me to stay. He _had_ chosen me. I forced myself to remember that—but it was so easy to lose the wholly undeserved gift when faced with the reasonableness of reality. "Thank you," he added, "For staying."

"It's what I wanted, too." Selfishly. Unreasonably. But I chose to ignore my dark nature now, to focus on my time here with Beau. While he would have me, while his choice was still _me_ , I would bask in it.

I unfolded my legs incrementally, and draped them over his. Then I nestled into his warm, soft shape and pressed my ear against his palpitating heart. It was a more beautiful sound than I could imagine—so entirely delicate and strong, all in the same moment. So easily a human heart could be stopped; but against so many odds, the organ usually found a way to persist. I would keep his heart beating for as long as inevitability would allow.

I felt his arms wrap around me, and he pressed his face into my hair. Warmth surrounded me, from the crown of my head, to the tips of my toes.

My throat scorched, but this urge was becoming easier to reign in, the longer I was around him. Compared to this morning, it was a dull scalding compared to the stabs of fire it had been.

I hummed contentedly.

"This is much easier than I thought it would be," he murmured softly.

I smiled. "Does it seem easy to you?" I tilted my face toward his, and very softly traced the curve of his neck with the tip of my nose, inhaling his succulent fragrance as I went. The fire flared and smoldered, warring with the smolder in my abdomen.

"Well," he gasped as I pressed my lips to the edge of his jaw, "It seems to be… easier… than it was this morning… at least."

"Hmm," I hummed again, lost in the thrumming of his heart, the heat of his skin against mine. The humming electricity that coursed over the surface of my skin, the ache in my stomach that didn't feel anything like thirst… I slipped my arms over his shoulders and boosted myself up until my lips were at his ear. I brushed the delicate outer shell with my bottom lip, breathing in the luscious scent of his hair, his skin… His blood. My throat burned with the thrill of it. But I was merely observing—I appreciated it for what it was, and nothing more.

"Why is that, do you think?" he asked shakily.

"Mind over matter." I breathed the words directly into his ear. Until I'd laid my ear against his heart, until I'd heard the gentle pulse of its vitality, a beating heart had always meant one thing for me. Today, the human heart had become something much different—Beau's, specifically.

Then he shivered, and I pulled back. I'd gotten lost in the moment—for a split second, I had forgotten that the temperature of my skin was so much colder than his. I forgot that he wore only a thin layer of clothing, and that my iciness would chill him almost immediately.

When I brushed my hand across the skin of his bicep where the sleeve of his t-shirt ended, I felt goose bumps.

"You're cold."

"I'm fine," he blatantly lied.

I frowned, disappointed, and resumed my former position. I so wanted to touch him, but it was more important that he stay comfortable. Beau's hands didn't quite let me go. They settled on my hips, the warmth of his hands sinking through the layers of my clothes quickly.

"Your whole body is shivering," I observed.

"I don't think that's from being cold."

We stared at each other in the dim room, and it occurred to me that human bodies trembled for all sorts of reasons. My skin would, of course, make him cold, but it hadn't occurred to me that my closeness, my lips, could have had a similar effect.

Desire rocketed through me so strongly it made my head swirl.

"I'm not sure what I'm allowed to do," he finally said, "How careful do I need to be?"

I paused, displeased by his phrasing. I didn't want him to have to be careful. I skipped over that discussion and answered his earlier question instead. "It's not easier." Experimentally, I brushed my hand over his forearm, watching the goose bumps rise under my touch. "But this afternoon… I was still undecided. I'm sorry, it was unforgivable for me to behave as I did."

"I forgive you."

"Thank you." I smiled at him gratefully and then dropped my eyes to our point of contact once more. It was easier to talk about this without having to look into his eyes. "You see…" I began again, struggling to admit to my weakness, as I lifted his palm to cradle my face, "I wasn't sure if I was strong enough… And while there was still that possibility that I might be… overcome"—I pressed my nose to the inside of his wrist and inhaled his scent—"I was… susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I _was_ strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would… that I ever could…" But I couldn't say the words out loud. It was too painful.

"So there's no possibility now?"

I looked up at him, repeating my declaration from before: "Mind over matter."

"Sounds easy," he said, grinning. I was glad he could joke about it.

"Rather than _easy_ I would say… _herculean, but possible_. And so… in answer to your other question…" Yes. I remembered again how closely the two desires overlapped, how they tended to dovetail.

"Sorry."

I laughed. "Why do you apologize?" I meant the inquiry rhetorically, and put my finger over his lips in case he felt the need to elaborate. "It is _not_ easy, and so, if it is acceptable to you, I would prefer if you would… follow my lead? Is that fair?" I dropped my hand so he could reply.

"Of course," he agreed immediately, "Whatever you want."

"If it gets to be… too much, I'm sure I will be able to make myself leave," I assured him. Why did this not sound convincing to me? I _would_ keep Beau safe, at any and all cost—including my own happiness.

His eyes glinted with the metallic tinge of fierce resolve. "I will make sure it's not too much."

"It will be harder tomorrow." I resigned myself to the fact. I would have to leave so he could sleep, now that he knew I'd been coming here at night. I didn't know what I would do with myself tonight. I'd occupied my time by coming here for weeks on end… It would be unfamiliar, and uncomfortable. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think." Although, of course, this was only a theory.

"Never go away," he proposed simply.

I grinned, liking the sound of that. "That suits me. Bring on the shackles—I am your prisoner." I looped my fingers around one of his wrists like a fetter. "And now, if you don't mind, may I borrow a blanket?" He had not quite stopped shivering, and I was going to remedy that.

"Oh, um, sure. Here." He reached behind me, leaning in as he did so, and I breathed in the fragrance that washed over me. Yes, it had gotten much easier over the course of the day, but it was not without effort. The fire in my throat flared. He passed me the quilt that had been folded over the edge of the bed, and I released his wrist so I could unfold it. He looked surprised when I handed it back to him.

"I'd be happier if I knew you were comfortable," I explained.

"I'm _very_ comfortable," he assured me.

I fought a smile. "Please?"

He draped the quilt over his shoulders like a cape.

I giggled. "Not exactly what I was thinking." I stood, covering anywhere our skin might touch, and then I climbed back into his lap—the place I liked most to be, with my ear nestled to his chest so I could hear his heart beat.

This was a far more beautiful symphony than I could ever compose. The steady thumping of his heart was a full-bodied masterpiece.

"Better?"

"I'm not sure about that," he pouted.

I smiled. "Good enough?" I compromised.

"Better than that," he said.

I laughed.

I felt his hand stroke my hair, carefully, and I closed my eyes.

"It's so strange," I mused without opening them, "You read about something… you hear about it in other people's minds, you watch it happen to them… and it doesn't prepare you even in the slightest for experiencing it yourself. The glory of first love. It's more than I was expecting." All those long years of watching Carine and Earnest, El and Royal, Archie and Jess… To see their bonds and appreciate them for what they were, to hear their viewpoints on it in their own minds was one thing… But to experience it—physically, emotionally, mentally—was an occurrence like none other. It was stronger, more life-affirming, disorienting and grounding than I had ever thought love could be.

"Much more," he agreed, and his voice was ardent.

"And other emotions, too," I went on, "Jealousy, for example. I thought I understood that one clearly. I've read about it a hundred times, seen actors portray it in a thousand plays and movies, listened to it in the minds around me daily—even felt it myself in a shallow way, wishing I had what I didn't… But I was _shocked_." I lifted my head to look him in the eye, finding that I was pouting. "Do you remember the day that McKayla asked you to the dance?"

He nodded. "The day you started talking to me again."

"I was stunned by the flare of resentment, almost fury, that I felt—I didn't recognize what it was at first. I didn't know jealousy could be so powerful… so painful. And then you refused her, and I didn't know why. It was more aggravating than usual that I couldn't just hear what you were thinking. Was there someone else? Was it simply for Jeremy's sake? I knew I had no right to care either way. I _tried_ not to care… And then the line started forming."

Beau groaned, and I laughed at the memory of his expressions.

"I waited, more anxious than I should be to hear what you would say to them, to try to decipher your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure. I didn't know what your answer would have been, if I'd asked." I glanced up at him guiltily, wondering if this would disturb him, "That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was _right_ , moral, ethical, honorable, and what I _wanted_. I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you would find someone you wanted, someone human like McKayla. It made me sad," I admitted.

"And then,"—I was reliving the moment, flooded with pleasure by the memory—"as you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The emotion that coursed through me then was unnerving… staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer."

I took a brief moment of pause, to listen to the acceleration of his heart.

"But jealousy," I continued, "It's so irrational. Just now, when Charlie asked you about that _annoying_ girl…"

" _That_ made you jealous. Really?" His tone was incredulous.

"I'm new at this," I explained, "You're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh."

"Honestly, though," he insisted, "for that to bother you, after I have to hear that Royal—male model of the year, Royal, Mr. Perfect, Royal—was meant for you. Eleanor or no Eleanor, how can I compete with that?"

I grinned, remembering Royal's unreasonable jealousy. He didn't hold a candle to the flame of desire Beau provoked in me. I snaked my arms around his neck again. "There's no competition."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Beau murmured, his own arms folding around me, cloaking me in warmth. "Is this okay?"

"Very," I conceded. "Of course Royal _is_ beautiful in his own way, but even if he wasn't like a brother to me, even if he didn't belong with Eleanor, he could never have one tenth—no, one hundredth—of the attraction you hold for me." I gazed into his clear, blue eyes, and wondered how I could explain sufficiently. "For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours… all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because you weren't alive yet." My life, of course, had points of reason up until then—but looking back on it now, I remembered the undeniable permanent shift Beau had created in me, and it seemed so entirely obvious now.

"It doesn't seem fair. I haven't had to wait at all. Why do I get off so easily?"

"You're right," I scoffed sarcastically, "I should make this harder for you, definitely." I paused to brush my hand ever so softly against his cheek, my voice serious now, though I tried to keep up with the joke. "You only have to risk your life every second you spend with me, surely that's not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity… what is that worth?" A lump rose in my throat, icy and unforgiving.

"I'm not feeling deprived," he said softly.

The shame had me burying my face in his chest. "Not yet," I whispered. As time passed, as his mental and emotional capabilities grew and shifted with his age, surely he would come to want things that I could never give him. Surely he would come to resent me… I was unmovable in my current state—never maturing, never shifting—surely he would come to crave someone who could grow and change alongside him.

"What—" he started to ask, but then noticed me tense. Charlie's thoughts had been so quiet I almost hadn't heard him get out of bed to check on Beau one last time before he went to sleep.

I dove for the shelter of his closet. "Lie down," I hissed at him.

He did as I asked, throwing himself back onto the mattress, jerking onto his side and tugging the quilt over his body. He took long, exaggerated breaths—heaving lungfuls, as if he were preparing to dive underwater, rather than feigning a boy asleep.

From where Charlie cracked the door open, peering in, he saw the rise and fall of Beau's shoulders, but the motion didn't look as melodramatic as it did to me, with his dim human sight.

Satisfied that Beau apparently had no intentions of gallivanting off into the night, he clicked the door shut and went back to bed, his mental atmosphere appeased and groggy. I didn't think he'd bother us again tonight.

I joined Beau on the mattress, pulling his arm over my shoulders as I nestled into his chest. I was back where I belonged, and the delight of his warmth combined with the pleasure of even being able to be this close, overwhelmed me. The thirst flared in the back of my mind, of course, but the tenderness of this moment took center stage.

"You're a terrible actor," I teased, "I'd say that career path is out for you."

"There goes my ten-year plan," he muttered sarcastically. I grinned at his joke. Against my breast, his heart was thrashing behind his sternum.

Without the ministration being a conscious action, I began to hum the composition I'd created for him, hoping it would calm his erratic state. I paused, realizing I hadn't asked. "Should I sing you to sleep?"

"Right. Like I could sleep with you here."

"You do it all the time," I pointed out.

"Not with you _here_." And he tightened his grip around me, his palm flattening between my shoulder blades. It made me grin.

"You have a point," I agreed. His closeness was doing strange, electric things to me, too. "So if you don't want to sleep what do you want to do, then?" I flirted with the vague question, knowing how many different ways it could be taken.

"Honestly?" he said quietly, "A lot of things. None of them careful."

I realized I was holding my breath. The cacophony of eagerness and trepidation were at war inside me, pushing my insides around. I didn't know how to process it.

"But since I promised to be careful," he continued hurriedly, "what I'd like is… to know more about you."

Relief and appreciation replaced the apprehension and doubt, and I smiled gratefully. I appreciated his gentlemanliness to no end.

"Ask me anything." Again, the freedom I felt in being able to tell him truly _anything_ was outstanding.

"Why do you do it?" he inquired, and at first I didn't know what he meant. "I still don't understand," he went on, "why you work so hard to resist what you… _are_. Don't get me wrong, of course I'm glad that you do—I've never been happier to be alive. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."

"That's a good question, and you are not the first one to ask it," I murmured. So many of our kind had not been able to share our viewpoint, had not understood the purpose of the self-imposed struggle. "The others—the vast majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot—they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been… dealt a certain hand… it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above—to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."

I remembered the long evenings I'd spent in conversation with Carine, trying to grasp and understand these things as she'd first told them to me. Even then, before I'd had a reason to live for much of anything, I had wanted to believe them. Part of it was that the desire to redeem myself in any way I possibly could had been at the forefront of my mind. Regardless of whether I was going to hell or not because of what I'd become, I could see the value in doing the best I could with my fate, just as she was doing.

Of course, my rebellion a few years later had still occurred, but all the while, I had justified myself with the belief that I was making the world a better place by doing away with its mortal wrong-doers. Surely, my efforts had to count for something.

A long moment had passed, and Beau laid completely still, and quiet. His breaths came and went evenly.

"Did you fall asleep?" I breathed softly into his t-shirt. If he had, I didn't want to wake him.

"No." His voice came husky and low in the quiet.

"Is that all you were curious about?" I inquired.

"Not quite."

"What else do you want to know?"

"Why can you read minds—why only you?" he wondered, "And Archie, seeing the future and everything… why does that happen?"

I shrugged. "We don't really know," I answered truthfully, "Carine has a theory… she believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified—like our minds, and our senses. She thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Archie had some precognition, wherever he was."

"What did she bring into the next life, and the others?" he wanted to know.

"Carine brought her compassion," I shared, "Earnest brought his ability to love passionately. Eleanor brought her strength, Royal his… tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness," I—mostly—joked, giggling. "Jessamine is very interesting. She was quite charismatic in her first life, able to influence those around her to see things her way. Now she is able to manipulate the emotions of those near her—calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."

Beau was quiet for a moment, and I waited for him to digest what I'd told him. I supposed it could be very overwhelming.

"So where did it all start?" he finally asked, "I mean, Carine changed you, and then someone must have changed her, and so on…"

"Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation?" I didn't know where Beau stood on a religion standpoint, so I left the options open-ended, "Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don't believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?"

"Let me get this straight—I'm the baby seal, right?"

"Correct," I laughed, and touched the delicate curve of his lips. The urge to press mine to his once more, even chastely, nearly overtook me. "Aren't you tired?" I inquired to distract myself. If he was sleeping, it would be easier to control my desires. "It's been a rather long day."

"I just have a few million more questions," he stated.

"We have tomorrow," I reminded him, "And the next day, and the next…"

I hugged myself closer to his front, marveling at the miracle he'd given me. The rest of his forever, spent next to him, if he'd have me… Ah. It was bliss to imagine.

"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning?" he asked. "You are mythical, after all."

"I won't leave you." This vow I could make confidently.

"One more, then, tonight," he conceded. And then, I felt the heat rush up his neck, into his face. His heart stuttered and sprinted.

"What is it?" I was surprised at his strange, biological reaction. What could _that_ be about?

"Um, nope, forget it. I changed my mind."

Ugh. That old torturous deaf curiosity flared. How I _wished_ I could hear his thoughts in these instances. "Beau, you can ask me anything."

He was silent, and I moaned, the inquisitiveness very nearly painful.

"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and _worse_." How was such a thing possible?!

"It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking," he accused lowly.

"Please tell me?" I spoke with gentle-influence, in the way that I hoped would get him to talk. It had worked before…

He shook his head.

Okay, so cajoling hadn't worked… How about coercion? "If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is."

"I shouldn't have brought it up," he muttered, and then his teeth _locked_ —audibly.

The edgy curiosity grew exponentially. " _Please_?"

He exhaled heavily, and I smiled, knowing I was winning. "You won't get… offended?" he clarified.

"Of course not," I assured him. He'd asked me questions before he thought would offend, and they hadn't. Surely, this would be much of the same.

He took a bracing breath, and the anticipation widened. "Well…" He hesitated, and then surged forth, "So, obviously, I don't know a lot that's true about vampires—" He stalled.

"Yes?" I prodded.

He sighed again, sounding relieved this time. Had he been worried about my reaction to the word? But I didn't have time to ponder this, because he was speaking again: "Okay, I mean, I just know the things you've told me, and it seems like we're pretty… different. Physically. You _look_ human—only better—but you don't eat or sleep, you know. You don't need the same things."

"Debatable on some levels," I said, "but there are definitely truths in what you're saying. What's your question?"

He took another deep breath. "I'm sorry," he blurted.

Agh! " _Ask me_!"

Then the words spewed forth in haste: "So I'm just an ordinary human guy, and you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and I am just… overwhelmed by you, and a part of that, naturally, is that I'm _insanely_ attracted to you" _And I to you._ "which I'm sure you can't have helped but notice, what with your being, like, super aware of my circulatory system" I smiled, amused. "but what I don't know is, if it's like that for you. Or is it like sleeping and eating, which you don't need and I do—though I don't _want_ them nearly as much as I want you? You said that Eleanor and Royal go off and live like a married couple, but does that even mean the same thing for vampires? And this question is totally offside, completely not first date appropriate, and I'm sorry and you don't have to answer." He drew in a ragged lungful of air.

 _Of course._ This had been what he'd been embarrassed about, and it suddenly all made sense. Abruptly, I was amused by his teenage-esque curiosity.

"Hmm…" I joked, "I would have said this was our second date."

"You're right," he agreed, his voice tight with humiliation.

I laughed. "Are you asking me about sex, Beau?"

The heat from his skin radiated through the air between us anew. "Yes," he admitted. "I shouldn't have."

I laughed again. _Why_ had this not been more obvious to me? He was a teenage boy. Of course he would wonder… "I _did_ climb into your bed, Beau. I believe that makes this line of inquiry quite understandable."

"You still don't have to answer," he said.

"I told you that you could ask me anything," I reminded him. "So…" I refocused, "in the general sense—Sex and Vampires One-Oh-One. We all started out human, Beau, and most of those human desires are still there—just obscured behind more powerful desires. But we're not thirsty all the time, and we tend to form… very strong bonds. Physical as well as emotional. Royal and Eleanor are just like any human couple who are attracted to each other, by which I mean, very, very annoying for those of us who have to live with them, and even more so for the one who can hear their minds."

He laughed softly, and I took part.

"Awkward," he stated.

"You have no idea." Then I sighed, my mood falling. "And now in the specific sense… Sex and Vampires One-Oh-Two, Beau and Edythe." I exhaled again. I wasn't sure how closely linked my desire for Beau's body, and my desire for his blood, were. Where one resided, did the other, as well? Did they feed off of each other, encourage each other? I simply didn't know the answers to these questions, and I _wasn't_ going to unearth them by means of experimentation. "I don't think… that would be possible for us."

"Because I would have to get too… close?"

Very, very vigilantly, I kept my mind completely focused on the conversation at hand. "That would be a problem, but that's not the _main_ problem. Beau, you don't know how… well, _fragile_ you are. I don't mean that as an insult to your manliness, anyone human is fragile to me. I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, simply by accident." Softly, I laid my palm against his cheek. "If I were too hasty… if I were at all distracted, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly _breakable_ you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."

He cringed, and I thought he understood.

"I think I could be _very_ distracted by you," I admitted in a low murmur.

"I am never _not_ distracted by you," he returned.

I was surprised when an unbidden flash of anger coursed through me. No, not anger—envy. The question wasn't appropriate, but I just had to know anyway. I struggled to sound casual. "Can I ask you something now—something potentially offensive?"

"It's your turn," he allowed.

"Do you have any experience with sex and humans?"

"Not even a little bit," he confessed, and relief sunk in, swift and sure. "This is all firsts for me. I told you, I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close."

"I know. It's just that I hear what other people think. I know that love and lust don't always keep the same company."

"They do for me."

More elated reprieve. "That's nice. We have that one thing in common, at least."

"Oh," he said simply, sounding surprised. "So, you _do_ find me distracting?" he asked.

"Indeed." I grinned up at him, the soft, sleepy ocean of his eyes, the lush fringe of lashes, his dark, thick hair, the sinewy shape of him… "Would you like me to tell you the things that distract me?" The full camber of his lips, the sweet dimple that showed in his chin when he smiled widely…

"You don't have to." He sounded self-conscious, and I remembered that Beau was not as sure about himself as he ought to be. That resolved my decision.

"It was your eyes first," I began, staring into that beautiful, starry gaze now, "You have lovely eyes, Beau, like a sky without clouds. I've spent all my life in rainy climates and so I often miss the sky, but not when I'm with you."

"Er, thanks?" He didn't sound convinced.

I giggled. Those eyes looked adorably disconcerted now, in the face of my proclaimed admiration. "I'm not alone," I pressed, "Six of your ten admirers started with your eyes, too."

" _Ten_?"

"They're not all so forward as Taylor and McKayla. Do you want a list? You have options."

His eyes narrowed. "I think you're making fun of me. And either way, there is no other option."

Tiny detonations of ecstasy exploded in my chest, hearing those words.

I continued on: "Next it was your arms—I'm _very_ fond of your arms, Beau—this includes your shoulders and hands." I ran my hand softly up and down his arm, from shoulder to fingers, up and down, and then one more time. "Or maybe it was your chin that was second…" I touched my fingers to his face, unsure. There were so many competing candidates. "I'm not entirely sure. It all took me quite by surprise when I realized that not only did I find you delicious, but also beautiful."

His face and neck were radiant with color, brightening his eyes.

"Oh," I remembered, "and I didn't even mention your _hair_." I pushed my fingers through the strands, brushing my nails ever-so-gently against his scalp—aware of just how catastrophically easy it would be to peel the skin away from his skull.

"Okay," he said, "now I _know_ you're making fun."

"I'm truly not," I insisted. "Did you know your hair is just precisely the same shade as a teak inlaid ceiling in a monastery I once stayed at in…" I thought for a fraction of a second, "I think it would be Cambodia now?"

"Um, no," he said, "I did not." He yawned loudly, and I felt his body relax against me.

I laughed, pleased by the fact that he _could_ relax in my presence. "Did I answer your question to your satisfaction?"

"Er, yes." His eyelids drooped.

"Then you should sleep," I encouraged in a whisper.

"I'm not sure if I can."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" he blurted, too loudly, and in the next room, Charlie started—not quite waking.

I giggled, delighted, and started the lullaby over, humming softly in his ear till I felt his limbs grow heavy, and his breaths grew even and slow.

After a while, I pulled back to look at his relaxed face.

"Are you asleep?" I whispered.

He didn't respond, which gave me my answer. I grinned, and, because he was asleep, I reached forward with careful, gentle fingers, and traced the shape of his face, over and over.

…

 **A/N:** If you have a free minute, please let me know what you thought of this one. Until next time! :)


	15. Introductions

**A/N:** Not much to say here, lovelies. Enjoy this one. We'll speak at the end :)

Song of inspiration: "Need The Sun To Break" by James Bay

…

It didn't take long for Beau to start talking.

At first it was mostly unintelligible mumblings.

Then he rolled, burying his face in my hair, hitching a leg over both of mine, and I froze. I had been astonishingly anesthetized to the burn of his scent over the course of the day, but his sudden, unexpected closeness triggered it once more.

And then he murmured my name, and the raging urge dissipated. In its place, warm tenderness glowed.

"Edythe," he said, sighing, "I love you."

If I had a working heart, it would have stopped. I wondered if I'd misinterpreted his words somehow, but then he said it again, and abruptly, my heart was soaring.

Regardless of if I deserved it or not, it was true, and in this moment, I had never felt more radiant. Instead of focusing on all the things that could go wrong, I chose to bask in this one truth that I knew: _Beau loved me._ And though I had heard the nature of his feelings before, it was different, hearing the words.

…

"Just a minute of your time."

Archie stepped smoothly out from the dining room doorway. He wasn't looking at me, instead at his hands, running one finger up his other palm.

I stopped, mid-stride, on the staircase and turned back to him. "What is it?"

I was in a rush to change and get back to Beau. He'd fallen into a deep, soundless slumber as the hours crept toward dawn, so I was sure I wouldn't miss anything of interest, but that didn't make being away from him any easier.

"Little sis!" Eleanor appeared at the top of the stairs, "How'd it go?!" She bounded down toward me, and I narrowed my eyes at her when I read the motives in her mind.

"Like you care," I teased, in too great a mood to be bothered by her and Jess's antics.

She gave me a deeply wounded look, laying a hand over her still heart. "My dear Edythe, why ever would you think that?"

I pursed my lips at her, folding my arms over my chest, waiting.

"So, did you kill him?"

" _There_ it is!"

Archie snickered. He knew the answer already, but apparently he hadn't told. Eleanor, at least. Jessamine appeared at Archie's elbow now, her thoughts gamely disappointed.

Eleanor glanced between us. "C'mon, c'mon," she urged, "Who won the bet?" She grinned, untroubled by the possibility that I had ended Beau's life.

I glanced at Archie. "Should we tell them?"

He grinned mischievously.

Then I smelt the unfamiliar aroma of human food, and I whirled. "Why—?" I began, but cut myself off as I rushed back down the stairs, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. Atop the counter lay a conglomeration of biscuits, baked goods, eggs, bacon, cartons of orange juice and milk, coffee, three different types of energy drinks…

"What is this?" I turned to Earnest, who had already begun to pack away the food into the empty refrigerator. On the table in the nook, I caught sight of the most extravagant fruit bowl I'd ever seen—Archie's doing, no doubt. I _knew_ I'd smelt orange rind on his hands.

"Seeing as you're bringing Beau by later—"

"Oh," I said, turning to Archie, "So you tell them _this_?" I tried to sound angry, but I thought I merely sounded teasing. I really wasn't all that upset. In fact, I was flattered by my family's willing excitement. However, I knew how to take care of my human, and I didn't need their help.

Archie shrugged. "Beau's a man's man, Edy, and since you _obviously_ don't feed him well enough, Earnest figured—"

Earnest chuckled as he started pulling out pots and pans he'd never used. "Oh, don't try to blame this one on me, son. This was _all_ your idea."

Archie grinned. "Anyway. Figured I'd pick up the slack."

"Oh, for the love of all that is holy." I rolled my eyes. I was wasting too much time on this already, and I headed for the second level. "Donate the food, Earnest," I said over my shoulder, "I'll feed Beau before we come."

I pretended not to notice the exchanging of hands between Jess and Eleanor as I passed them on my way back to the stairs, trying to suppress my giddy smile. I was glad my family was prepared to meet him—but I knew Beau wouldn't want a fuss made, and I could only imagine how he would react to the fridge full of food in a house where its occupants didn't eat. To Beau, it would be worse than the Girlfriends' Parents' Inquisition. _"So, let me ask you—what are your intentions for dating my daughter?"_

"Hey!" El called when I got to the landing, "Wait up, Edy!"

I slowed my pace and Eleanor followed me up to my room. I discarded the thin white tank top in the hamper, and searched my closet for something more unassuming.

"So, really," she said, flopping gracefully—in the way only a vampire can do—onto the leather couch against the east wall of my bedroom. "How'd it go?"

"The afternoon was successful," I said from where I was leafing through options in my closet. "Not without a few near-blunders, but I think I proved myself pretty well."

El huffed. "You know, Roy wasn't exactly betting on his survival." I felt my eyes narrow. Why was I not surprised? "He'll be disappointed when they get back from hunting."

"Why would anyone bet against Archie?" I mumbled, selecting a peach colored sweater and pulling it on. I changed my jeans, as well.

"I mean," El said as I emerged from the closet and sat down next to her, "Jess's odds weren't good, and I trusted her, with her background and all. And Archie wasn't really sure about anything until halfway through the afternoon—at which point he let out a huge ' _Boo yah!_ That's _my little sister!'_." I smirked, having an idea about what he might have seen. "I don't take it you'll tell me about that, will you?" Her curiosity was barely restrained. Eleanor hated to be left out of the loop.

I didn't see the point in resisting. "I kissed him."

El's mind went blank, and then a million different thoughts were flashing through her brain, arcing too quickly across the expanse of her mind for me to peg.

Finally, _How'd you manage that?_

I remembered Beau's unexpected reaction, and coupled with the reflexive instinct she was thinking she would have had in response to putting her lips so close to a human, it had my throat stinging. Yes, I needed to get back to Beau quickly.

"Not without a great deal of difficulty. And an exceeding amount of self-control."

Eleanor thought about this for a moment, and she tried to push the obvious difference in our species aside, so that she could offer me some truly big-sisterly advice.

I groaned, hearing what she was thinking already.

"I mean," she finally said, pretending she hadn't heard me, "I don't see how you can have a successful relationship without the physical. _And_ ," she added, "Beau, human or non-human, is going to have…" _How do I put this delicately? Raging, throbbing—_ "urges," she said.

"Believe me," I murmured, "I'm learning a thing or two about raging, throbbing urges myself."

"Hey, I didn't mean for you to hear that first part," she protested. Then she reached over and tweaked my nose. "Aww… My baby sister… Finally ready for the sex talk."

I glared at her, childishly poking my tongue out. If I'd been human, I probably would be blushing. "Not _sex_ specifically," I clarified, "Just the… Physical part."

Eleanor couldn't quite comprehend a physical relationship in absence of lovemaking, but I had figured her to be the best candidate for this discussion due to the fact that she was the most forward of us all. There was rarely a time when the filter of her thoughts did not directly correlate into her spoken words.

 _Physical part,_ she repeated in her head.

"I mean," I huffed, " _Obviously_ , we've kissed. I already told you that, but… I just would like to know what experience you have… In the area… So that I can… I don't know…"

Eleanor smirked smugly, amused by my difficulty in forming complete sentences.

"Oh, never _mind_!" I griped, and I stood, prepared to leave the whole situation behind, but she gripped my wrist and pulled me back down.

"Now, hold on," she protested. I waited patiently. "I had _some_ experience," she confessed. Through the unclear sieve of her human mind, I could see she'd had a few trysts with the stable boy. The memories were unerringly sharp. _Sex, even human sex, isn't something you could easily forget_ , she thought, _I mean, it's way more intense as a vampire, but—_

"Okay, okay," I blurted, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my palms to my ears, as if that would help block out the mental images of her and Royal she was thinking about. "Enough. I never should have asked."

"Edy." She appraised me. "I don't know _how_ you managed, or _why_ you would want to even _go there_ with a human, but what I do know is this—you love him. And if you truly love him, and he loves you, you'll find a way to be together. You'll figure this out."

She smacked my knee in a way that was somewhere between encouraging, and rowdily sibling-esque. It was very unlike Eleanor to be so serious about these sorts of things. She would much rather joke about physical relations, but I could tell in her mind that she had sympathy for me.

She was not the first in our family to notice the drastic change in my mood, and she knew this was due to the newly-blossomed relationship between myself and Beau. Despite the inevitability of what she suspected would happen—i.e. Beau with glowing crimson eyes—she wanted me to be happy in the meantime. I appreciated that.

…

It was a very different experience to be able to watch the sunrise from Beau's small bedroom window. We had never met it together, and the dawning of this day felt new and pure and blissful.

The daybreak burst across the horizon with purple fire, caressing the thick, oppressive clouds, bringing forth a new day.

It surprised me how little my resolve had waned in my hour of absence. The thirst was mildly stronger, but—due to yesterday's practices, I suspected—it was not nearly as overwhelming as I had thought it would be, and I adjusted quickly.

By the time Beau began to surface from sleep, I was completely at ease, perched in the rocking chair across the room. His breathing changed, and I knew he was awake when he moaned groggily, shifting onto his side.

"Oh!" He jolted into a sitting position, eyes cloudy, lips parted, not fully here, nor there. His hair was a chaotic tangle, and I grinned at the sight of it, piled on top of his head. How could a rooster's tail look so undeniably gorgeous? I decided I very much liked this sleep-ruffled look of his, and added it to my steadily-expanding list.

"Your hair also has the ability to defy gravity," I noted quietly, "It's like your own superpower."

His sleep-creased face swung toward me, and his hands lifted to squash the untidy hair back to his scalp. As soon as hands fell, it sprung back out of shape.

"You stayed." His voice was heavy, husky with disuse and ardor. It made my frozen heart twist in the most pleasant way.

"Of course. That's what you wanted, correct?"

He nodded. His lips looked so soft… His left cheek had been pressed against the pillow, sleep-wrinkled and rosy, and I wanted to press my face to his, to share that snug warmth.

But I didn't have to move, because he was already half-falling out of the bed, tripping over wayward sheets, and stumbling toward me. He moved almost unconsciously, and if I had not been prepared by yesterday's unexpected occurrences, his sudden advancement may have thrown me. But this morning, it didn't.

He dropped to his knees in front of me and reached up slowly, to caress my cheek.

 _Hmm… So warm…_

"Charlie?" he asked.

"He left an hour ago," I informed him, "with an amazing amount of gear."

"You left?" He sounded offended, having noticed my changed outfit.

I opened my eyes, unreasonably pleased by the pleasure his affront brought me. I lifted my hand to lay it over his own, against my face. "I could hardly leave in the clothes I came in—what would the neighbors think?" I quipped. "In any case, I was only gone for a few minutes and you were very deeply asleep at that point, so I know I didn't miss anything."

He groaned quietly. "What did I say?" he inquired.

I felt suddenly shy, and breathless. "You said you loved me."

"You already knew that," he said, his eyes limpid pools.

"It was different," I argued, "hearing the words."

He stared into my eyes, and for just a moment, I let myself sink into the fathomless ocean, floating in its serene waves… Losing myself. "I love you."

Euphoria erupted inside me, and I was at a loss for words. I leaned forward to rest my forehead lightly against his. "You are my life now." They were the only words I could think of. Truer words had never been spoken.

We stayed this way, in our shy lovers' embrace, until Beau's stomach made its displeasure known. I remembered my duty to keep him better-fed and sat up, laughing.

"Humanity is _so_ overrated," he carped quietly.

"Should we begin with breakfast?" I suggested.

Beau's eyes widened and he threw his hand over his throat. Immediately, I realized my fault, and painful remorse flooded through me. In the moment immediately succeeding that, mirth flashed in his eyes, and I realized he'd been joking.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

He laughed, the sound an undeniable delight. "Come on," he goaded me, "you know that was funny."

 _Not funny._ "I disagree. Shall I rephrase? Breakfast time for the human?"

"Okay," he agreed, "I need another human minute first, if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"Stay," he ordered.

I grinned. Oh, I wasn't going anywhere.

I waited while he brushed his teeth and took his shower. A moment later, I heard his heart rate pick up, and I wondered about that. The bathroom door squeaked open, his bare feet padded across the hallway's floorboards, and then I got my answer.

Beau poked his head around the partially open door. The bit of his shoulder and chest I could see were bare.

 _Oh_.

"Um…" he said.

I giggled at his red-faced, mortified expression. Obviously, the half-nudity in my presence was not on purpose, and had been completely unavoidable.

"Shall we meet in the kitchen, then?" I suggested.

"Yes, please."

In a moment, I was past him, politely averting my eyes as I flew down the stairs.

"What's for breakfast?" he asked when he stepped into the room a few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a navy-blue pullover. It complimented the color in his eyes beautifully.

His question threw me. I didn't know _how_ to cook, but I was certainly willing to try… Wasn't that a very 'girlfriend-ish' thing to do, to cook for your boyfriend? "I'm not sure…" I said, "What would you like?"

But then he laughed, and I realized he'd been joking. "That's all right, I fend for myself pretty well," he relented, "You're allowed to watch _me_ hunt."

I took a seat at the table as he gathered what he needed—a box of cereal from the cupboard, the carton of milk, a bowl, and a spoon. As he dumped a heap of yellow flakes into the dish, I tried not to wrinkle my nose. It didn't look anything resembling human food. In fact, it didn't smell like it, either.

He set his food down at the spot across from mine, and then hesitated.

"Um, can I… get you something?"

I rolled my eyes at his needless—though appreciated—attempt at hosting. "Just eat, Beau."

He sat down, eyes on me as he took the first bite. It was strangely fascinating to watch him eat. The way his jaw muscles worked, the way his lips caressed the spoon… I was enchanted—and distracted—by the inane ministrations.

"Anything on the agenda today?" he asked once he'd swallowed the first bite.

"Maybe." I remembered my family's expectations, and Archie's confidence that Beau would agree to my invitation. Not for the first time, I wondered if his vision was a result of my decision, or if my decision was a result of the vision. "That depends on whether or not you like my idea," I went on.

"I'll like it," he promised without hesitation, and took a second bite.

I made a face, wondering how he would react to this. "Are you open to meeting my family?" They'd waited so long—especially Earnest—and I couldn't help but crave this dated rite of passage. I wanted to introduce Beau to my family, I wanted to take him home to meet my parents—in a way that felt very natural and very human.

Beau choked on his food.

I leapt to my feet, torn with indecision. If I beat on his back, would I crush his lungs in my effort to dislodge whatever was stuck in his throat? If I performed the Heimlich maneuver, how many ribs would I break before I successfully cleared his airways— _if_ I didn't crush them first?

He shook his head, still hacking, and motioned for me to sit. Finally, after a moment that stretched on forever, he cleared the obstruction from his windpipe.

"I'm good, I'm good," he rasped.

"Please don't do that to me again, Beau." If I were human, my heart would be flying. My breath accelerate in response to the panicky sensations.

"Sorry," he said.

"Maybe we should have this conversation after you're done eating," I suggested warily.

"Okay," he agreed.

I thought about his reaction while he finished his breakfast. Was he averse to meeting them? Was he frightened? It certainly seemed so, and I wondered about that. How could he act so naturally around me, but have the very appropriate reaction to the rest of my family?

Beau didn't speak, his eyes a galaxy of changing emotion and concentrated thought, as he finished his meal. Finally, he put the spoon in the bowl and pushed it away.

"I've finally done it."

"What did you do?" he asked.

"Scared you."

To my surprise, he didn't deny the claim. Instead, he lifted his hand, fingers spread, and waved it from side to side in the international symbol for _Kinda, yeah_.

"I wouldn't let anyone hurt you," I jested. They would never try, I knew that, and in the past, humor had worked to ease his sullen moods. I thought it would work now, but instead, immediate anxiety flashed across his face.

"No one would try, Beau," I hurried to soothe him, "That was a joke."

"I don't want to cause you any problems," he mumbled, "Do they even know that I know?"

I rolled my eyes again, thinking of my earlier conversation with El, and of course, Archie was _always_ in the know. "Oh, they're quite up to date," I assured him, "It's not really possible to keep secrets in my house, what with our various parlor tricks. Archie had already seen that your dropping by was a possibility."

Emotions flitted in his eyes and across his face. Realization, surprise, embarrassment.

His face went red, and despite knowing it wouldn't work, I probed his impenetrable mind. I suspected he might not tell me what he was thinking, and this I really needed to know.

Did it worry him—Archie's precognition? Did it scare him?

But then he explained, surprising me: "Just thinking about what Archie might have seen."

I nodded in understanding. The kiss. The discussion in his bed. "It can feel invasive," I empathized, "But he doesn't do it on purpose. And he sees so many different possibilities… he doesn't know which will happen. For example, he saw over a hundred different ways that yesterday _could_ have gone, and you only survived about seventy-five percent of the scenarios. They'd taken bets, you know, as to whether I would kill you."

"Oh," he said simply.

I tried to decipher the emotions in his eyes. "Do you want to know who sided for and against?"

"Um, maybe not," he declined, "Tell me after I meet them. I don't want to go into this prejudiced."

Elated surprise shook the annoyance at my siblings off. "Oh. You'll go, then?"

"It seems like… the respectful thing to do," he reasoned, "I don't want them to think I'm shady."

I laughed out loud at _that_ impossibility. "Does that mean I get to meet Charlie, too, then?" I asked eagerly. I was looking forward to meeting Chief Swan formally. It would be prudent to have everything out in the open before his reservations got any stronger. "He's already suspicious, and I'd rather not be _shady_ , either." It felt odd to use the current vernacular. The word felt foreign and heavy on my tongue. Archie had always fared better at keeping his dialect… What was the phrase? With the times? Current with the four-one-one and all that…?

"I mean, sure," he agreed, "But what should we tell him? I mean, how do I explain…?"

I lifted my shoulders. "I doubt he'll struggle _too_ hard with the idea of your having a girlfriend," I deduced, "Though it's a loose interpretation of the word _girl_ , I'll admit."

" _Girlfriend…_ It sounds… not enough," he mumbled.

 _Oh_. Affection washed through the empty cavern of my heart like a tidal wave. I leaned forward to stroke one finger softly down the side of his face. "Well, I don't know if we need to give him all the gory details, but he will need some explanation for why I'm around here so much. I don't want Chief Swan putting a restraining order on me," I joked.

"Will you really be here?" His voice was anxious, his eyes suddenly wild.

"As long as you want me," I vowed.

"I'll always want you. I'm talking about forever here."

Equal amounts of bliss and sadness touched me, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the torrent of emotion. My selfishness would destroy him. My nature would restrain him from living the life he truly deserved. Eventually, he would come to realize this. He had to. I _wanted_ him to, as much as it would torture me. When I burned, Beau was safe…

I had reached out, unconsciously, to put my finger against his lips—to stop him from making any more declarations.

"Does that make you… sad?" he asked.

Hmm. Perceptive. I opened my eyes and looked into his—gorgeous, clear, concerned… I exhaled heavily.

I would focus on today. Tomorrow would come later.

"Shall we?"

He glanced over his shoulder toward the microwave clock. "Isn't it a little ear—" He caught himself. "Wait, forget I asked that."

"Forgotten," I assured him, struggling to push my dampened mood aside. His small slip was just another sign that I did not belong in his world… My nature went against everything that was normal and predictable for him…

He deserved so much better than the black stain I brought upon his pure nature.

"Is this okay?" he checked, and gestured down his body, referring to his apparel.

I looked him over once. The dark blue sweater did wonderful and tempting things to his complexion, and his eyes. It clung to all the right places—his chest, his arms, his shoulders.

 _No,_ I thought, _This is definitely_ not _okay._ He was utterly, indecently tempting, in all the right ways.

"You look…" I contemplated, flirting with my wording, and then settling on the perfect description, grinning at its sure-to-be-perceived double meaning, "Delicious."

He misunderstood. "Should I change?"

I laughed at his endearing absurdity and shook my head. "Never change, Beau."

I rose from my seat, and then stepped toward him, unable to resist his deliciousness. I stopped when our knees were touching. Lifting my hands to either side of his face to restrain him, I leaned slowly forward, until our faces were just an inch apart.

The palpable electricity burned between us, jumping and crackling in the sliver of space between our lips.

"Carefully," I warned him.

Cautiously, I inclined my head sideways and pressed my lips gently against his.

The erratic acceleration of his heart was predictable to me now—I had expected it. And so, when the flame of blood rush burst across my face and lips, I expected that, too. Because it hadn't come as a surprise, I pushed myself, experimenting—wondering just how far I could go, while keeping him safe, but while also indulging in the desires that were so apparent between us.

I kissed him slowly, softly, and as my confidence grew, I pressed my lips just a little bit more firmly to his, inhaling his sweet fragrance. I was surprised when the fire raced down my throat and burned, not only there, but extended out, from my lungs, across my breasts, flushing across my shoulders and down my stomach.

Floating in the warm, electric sensation, but still feeling very self-possessed, I let my fingers brush down his face, to hook under his jaw. I pulled his lips tighter to mine so I could taste more of him. The taste, the scent, the syrupy sweetness of him coated the inside of my mouth with ambrosia.

And then Beau went strangely limp.

"Beau?" I leaned back, supporting his weight with my outstretched arms, one on the back of his neck, one on his forehead, " _Beau_?"

His eyelids fluttered, and he murmured something unintelligible.

"What happened?" I demanded, "Are you all right?"

He drew two deep breaths and then opened his eyes. He looked fine, if a little dazed.

"I'm fine. Just… kind of forgot to breathe for a minute there. Sorry." He took another deep breath.

"You forgot to _breathe_?"

"I was trying to be careful."

Equal amounts of relief and exasperation coursed through me. "What am I supposed to _do_ with you, Beau? Yesterday, I kiss you, and you attack me! Today, you pass out!"

"Sorry," he murmured.

I sighed and kissed him quickly on the forehead. "It's a good thing that it's physically impossible for me to have a heart attack."

"That _is_ good," he said.

"I can't take you anywhere like this," I lamented. He didn't appear sick or dizzy like the last time, but I couldn't be totally sure.

"No, I'm fine," he maintained, "Really. Totally back to normal. Besides, your family is going to think I'm insane anyway, so what's the difference if I'm a little unsteady?"

I tried not to smile. "You mean more unsteady than usual?"

"Sure. Look, I'm trying not to think about what we're going to do now, so it would help if we could get going."

I wondered if his hesitance really was just normal boyfriend-meets-the-family anxiety, or if it was more than that... At any rate, I supposed I would find out soon enough.

…

"Wow."

Beau stared out the windshield of his truck, up at the faded white, restored colonial-style house Earnest and Archie had been working on for years—since the mid-fifties, between our many departures and returns.

I watched his eyes rake over its vastness, the refurbished windows and doors, the dark-shaded shutters—which were the original thing, except refurbished, the gallant beams that framed and supported the roof over-hanging the wrap-around porch.

"You like it?" I asked, watching the fascination flood his face.

"It's… really something," he said.

I was out the driver's side door and over to his in a flash, and I waited for him to push it open slowly, the apprehension returning to his face. The awe-struck interest in the house had been momentary and brief. Now, his eyes swam with the same anxiety they had in his kitchen a half an hour ago.

Inside, my family was nearly coming apart at the seams with enthralled anticipation.

"Be good," I warned Archie, my verbatim too quiet and quick for Beau to catch. From upstairs, Archie chuckled.

 _Of course, of course. When am I not good?_

"Are you ready?" I inquired to Beau.

"Nope," he said, "Let's do this."

I laughed at his inconsistent words, remembering that, of course, Beau was brave, and he would face this challenge as he'd done everything else up until now—with fierce, unerring resolve.

Nervously, he crushed his hair against his skull.

"You look great," I assured him. The rooster tail gave him character, in addition to it being adorable. He was the most striking being I had ever laid eyes on. My family would _adore_ him. Not nearly as much as I did, but they'd like him just the same.

Confident in this assumption, I gripped his hand and towed him through the deep shade of the cedar trees that shaded the house from outside view—it was a safeguard in case we were ever to have any unexpected visitors. The trees' cover would hide the effects of the unreliable sun on our skin.

Carine and Earnest were waiting for us when we stepped inside. They stood so still that Beau didn't notice them at first, standing on the platform with my white grand piano. First his eyes swept the large room—Archie and Earnest had knocked down many of the walls to create an airy, open space. They'd painted with varying shades of whites, creams and beiges. The color palette helped to lessen the severe fairness of our skin, even warmed it marginally.

Earnest's thoughts were bursting with delight.

 _Oh, Edythe, you make a perfect couple,_ he enthused. He was overjoyed to see his oldest and youngest daughter happy and whole and in love. He had suspected for so long that something had been missing from my indispensible disposition, that I had been changed too young, and so this unexpected change pleased him in more ways than he could articulate.

Beau's eyes settled on them now, taking in their unnatural, beatific postures.

Both of them smiled at Beau, but they stayed where they were—aware of the possibility that Beau might be afraid.

"Carine, Earnest," I said, my voice full of tenderness, "This is Beau." Myself, as well as my family members, were from earlier, more formal eras, and the introduction was more a ceremony of sorts than an actual introduction. Everyone knew each other's names already, of course.

My bosom swelled with pride as my parents took in the face of my love. They were entirely non-judgmental, and completely accepting.

"You're very welcome, Beau," Carine told him, and she stepped forward with careful assuredness. Her compassion was usually enough to put unaware humans at ease around her, but she knew that Beau was aware of what we were, and so she moved with extra caution. She extended her hand with slight trepidation, wondering whether Beau would accept the gesture or not.

But with more confidence and boldness than I had been expecting, Beau stepped forward and took her cool hand, shaking.

Her thoughts were surprised and impressed.

 _Hmm. He seems so confident, so unafraid… Even while knowing what he does of our nature… Remarkable…_

"It's nice to see you again, Dr. Cullen," he told her.

"Please, call me Carine," she insisted, smiling amicably.

Beau grinned back. "Carine."

 _He fits in well here, Edythe,_ Carine thought serenely. She could see it, the way our family would be perfectly complete with Beau here.

I ignored that, and watched Earnest now step forward to shake Beau's hand.

"It's very nice to know you," he told him, and the phrase was genuine. He was more excited than maybe was usual for a typical father—but then, Earnest was not a typical father. He loved me with exceeding strength and devotion. In all senses of the phrase, he really did think of me as his 'little girl'. I was the youngest of all of us, in the physical sense—the oldest in others—and Earnest had always felt the two of us shared a special bond. Of course, he loved my other siblings just as much, but he'd always felt a deep craving for me to have the life he thought I deserved. He'd seen me work hard for the existence I'd made for myself, and he would have had a hard time accepting anything but the best for me. Beau, he had decided, was the best for me. He didn't know where our journey would end up, but he believed that love healed all wounds, all hardships and stood against all prosecution. Where there was a will, there was a way, in Earnest's view.

I agreed with him, on certain points.

"Where are Archie and Jess?" I asked aloud, knowing that he would indubitably take this inquiry as his cue. Where Beau couldn't see me, I rolled my eyes dramatically.

"Hey, Edy's home!" he called, and then darted down the stairs at vampire speed, coming to a stop only two feet from Beau. Carine and Earnest frowned disapprovingly at him, but he ignored them thoroughly.

Beau didn't look bothered—in fact, he looked a little amused.

"Beau!" Archie greeted him, and held out his hand.

 _Don't freak, Edy._

When Beau went to take it, Archie grasped Beau's hand and pulled him into a man's embrace, patting him gently on the back.

My jaw clenched anyway. I wasn't pleased about Archie's sudden proximity, nor his casual manner when it came to physical touch. But of course, I trusted Archie, and I knew he would never do anything to harm his 'new best friend'.

"Hey, Archie," Beau gasped, a little thrown. To my relief, he looked a little taken aback by Archie's forwardness, but not upset.

Carine and Earnest reacted more anxiously to Archie's advances than I had, and each of their minds were swirling with reprimands. Archie saw the coming conversation, but paid it no mind. It wouldn't stop his behavior— _I_ knew that much, and I couldn't even see the future.

"You do smell good, I never noticed before," Archie added, and I made a face at him as heat burst into the air around Beau. I heard the acknowledgment in each of their thoughts as Beau's face went red.

Everyone was in control, but I leveled my eyes at Jessamine, who hung back by the stairs, warning her to keep her distance. She wouldn't go against my wishes; battle plans in the past, she was coming around to the idea of Beau. I was sure Archie had told her enough about him.

I felt her talent then, as she smoothed the awkward moment over with a sense of comradeship. I was suddenly completely comfortable and unbothered by Archie's inappropriate comment. Beau's flush faded quickly as a result.

"Hello, Beau," Jessamine greeted him now, smiling politely.

"Hello, Jessamine," he responded with a smile. Then he turned the gorgeousness of his smile on the rest of my family. My heart would have stuttered if able. "It's nice to meet you all—you have a very beautiful home."

"Thank you. We're so glad that you came," Earnest said. He was in awe of Beau's bravery and courage. So few humans had stepped through our doors before, and he was impressed. _Very good_ , he praised silently.

 _Edythe_.

I shifted only my eyes to Carine's face as Earnest and Beau discoursed, to show her I was listening.

 _Archie says we'll have some nomadic visitors soon—today or tomorrow, the timing was unsure. They'll be curious about our lifestyle, and they'll come to talk to us. I thought you should be aware._

I nodded once in acknowledgment.

Yes. I was glad Carine had made me aware. I tried to quell my instinctive anxiety, reminding myself that he was right _here_ , and I focused on the smoldering fire burning between us, where our palms met.

"Do you play?" Earnest said to Beau, having noted his gaze stray to the piano.

He shook his head. "Not at all," he said, "But it's really beautiful. Is it yours?"

Earnest laughed, surprised that I hadn't told Beau of my musical talents. He was disappointed that I was withholding my abilities. "No. Didn't Edythe tell you she was musical?"

"Uh, she hasn't mentioned it. But I guess I should have known, right?"

We were all confused, but only Earnest raised his eyebrows in question.

"Is there anything she's not good at?" Beau elaborated.

Jess wasn't quick enough to hide her laughter. _Right. Everything but staying away from the human boy!_

Archie rolled his eyes, and Earnest gave me a mildly reproofing look.

"I hope you haven't been showing off. It's rude." Did he realize how paternal he sounded? He should have been proud.

"Oh, just a little bit," I told him, laughing.

I saw my face in his mind, the pure joy in my expression, the extra color in my cheeks, the sparkle in my eyes.

 _Edythe, he's made you so happy,_ he thought tenderly. _I'm so glad for you, sweetheart._

"Edythe," he said out loud then, for the benefit of listening ears, "you should play for him."

"You just said showing off was rude," I retorted playfully.

"Make an exception." He turned his smile on Beau. "I'm being selfish," he confessed, "She doesn't play enough, and I love to hear her."

"I'd like to hear you play," Beau said to me.

 _Fine, then._ I cast Earnest an exasperated look, and then turned to include Beau in my over-reaction as well. Only because they were making me. It was difficult enough to refuse Earnest, but when Beau joined in on the scheming, it was altogether impossible.

I let Beau's hand go and moved to sit at the piano. Without turning, I tapped the spot next to me on the bench. I glanced over my shoulder at him, waiting for him to join me. I wasn't willing to let him stand that far away from me. I was going to get as much of his closeness as I could, while I could.

Time was changing its meaning for me—where before, it had dragged and dragged, now, when I was with Beau, it passed much too quickly.

"Oh," Beau muttered, understanding, and rushed to take the seat next to me.

Once he was situated, I began to play Earnest's favorite composition. It was a complex piece, woven through with complicated counterpoints and underlying tenors. I played as quickly as the inanimate keys would allow.

Behind us, my family chuckled when Beau's mouth opened with an audible 'pop'.

I glanced over at his slack-jawed expression without stopping. "Do you like it?"

Understanding brightened his eyes immediately. "You wrote this," he surmised.

I nodded. "It's Earnest's favorite."

 _We'll leave you two lovebirds alone,_ Carine teased as she ushered the rest of my family from the room.

Down by the river, El and Royal were talking quietly. He hadn't wanted to be included in the introductions, and El had thought it best to stay with him as moral support.

" _Look, babe,"_ she was saying, hand on his knee, _"Edythe's pretty serious about this guy. Whether you're happy about it or not, you're going to have to come around sometime… He'll be part of the family soon enough…"_

Beau sighed, distracting me, and something in his eyes dimmed. Abruptly, his face fell.

"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned.

"I'm just… feeling a little insignificant," he murmured.

It didn't take me long to come up with a way to make him feel better. I braided the beginnings of Beau's nocturne into the original piece, gradually fading Earnest's song out until Beau's was center stage.

"I thought of this one while I watched you sleeping," I nearly whispered, suddenly shy, "It's _your_ song."

He didn't speak, and I kept my eyes on the keys, though it was a needless effort.

"They like you quite a bit, you know. Earnest especially," I informed him.

Beau casted around, noticing that we were alone. He hadn't heard them step away.

"Where did they go?" he asked.

"Giving us some privacy. Subtle, aren't they?"

He laughed, and then abruptly, his face sank into a pout. "It's nice that they like me," he said, "I like _them_. But Royal and Eleanor…"

I did my best not to let my annoyance at my brother show. "Don't worry about Royal," I soothed him, "He's always the last to come around."

"Eleanor?" he prodded.

I laughed sharply. "El thinks _I'm_ a lunatic, it's true," I conceded, "But she doesn't have a problem with you. She's off trying to reason with Royal now."

"What did I do? I mean, I've never even spoken to—"

I interjected before he could do more than entertain the idea that this was somehow his fault. "You didn't do anything, Beau, honestly. Royal struggles the most with what we are. It's hard for him to have someone on the outside know the truth. And he's a little jealous."

Beau snorted in disbelief.

I shrugged. The answer was obvious to me, but maybe that was merely because I had been able to read it so clearly in Royal's thoughts. "You're human," I summarized, "He wishes he were, too."

"Oh."

He was contemplative for a moment, and I gave him space to think, continuing to play.

"That thing Jessamine does feels really… _not_ strange, I guess," he finally mused, "It was kind of incredible."

I laughed agreeably. It had been amazing to me, too, when I'd first experienced it. "Words don't fully do it justice, do they?"

"Not really," he agreed, "But… does she like me? She seemed…"

"That was my fault," I interjected again, "I told you she was the most recent to try our way of life. I warned her to keep her distance." Not to mention the fact that she had been intent on ending his life against my will, just a mere few weeks ago.

"Oh," he said again, and I could hear the comprehension in his voice.

"Indeed… Carine and Earnest think you're wonderful," I assured him. After all his self-doubt, I wanted to give him something positive.

"Huh," he said, "I really didn't do anything very exciting. Shook a few hands."

"They're happy to see me happy. Earnest probably wouldn't care if you had a third eye and webbed feet. All this time he's been worrying about me, afraid I was too young when Carine changed me, that there was something missing from my essential makeup. He's so relieved. Every time I touch you, he practically bursts into applause."

"Archie's enthusiastic," he noted.

I grimaced. "Archie has his own special perspective on life." On Beau's especially…

He gazed down at me, a question rising in his eyes.

"What?"

"You're not going to explain what you mean by that, are you?" he guessed.

I narrowed my eyes at him, debating this. Would I tell him? One day? Obviously he was suspicious of my keeping something from him—he was very perceptive, after all. I decided to keep it to myself as long as time would allow. I didn't want to think about all the different reactions he might have to the discussion of eternal damnation. I wanted to shudder just imagining them. Surely, he would not stand for that. Surely, he would leave me when he discovered this part of the possible equation… _I_ was set on not bringing it to fruition, but nevertheless… How could he ever _want_ that?

"Okay," Beau said confidently, as if a conversation had just played out between the two of us, though a word had not been uttered.

"Hmm."

"So what was Carine telling you before?"

I kept my gaze down, again paying needless attention to the keys. "You noticed that, did you?"

"Of course."

I deliberated for a moment, watching his face. How would he react to this news? With his same ill-placed, stoic acceptance; or would this be the thing that sent him running for the hills, or careening into shock?

"She wanted to tell me some news," I finally said. "She didn't know if it was something I would share with you."

"Will you?" he requested.

"It's probably a good idea," I relented, "My behavior might be a little… odd for the next few days—or weeks. A little maniacal. So it's best if I explain myself beforehand."

"What's wrong?" he worried.

"Nothing's wrong, exactly," I reassured him, "Archie just sees some visitors coming soon. They know we're here, and they're curious."

"Visitors?" he repeated.

"Yes… like us, but not. Their hunting habits are not like ours, I mean. They probably won't come into town at all, but I won't be letting you out of my sight till they're gone."

"Wow," he replied, "Shouldn't we… I mean, is there a way to warn people?"

I admired his compassion, but as much as my family and I strived to banish the monsters from inside ourselves, the majority of our kind did not see the preservation of human life in the same way. "Carine will ask them not to hunt nearby, as a courtesy, and most likely they won't have a problem with that. But we can't do more, for a variety of reasons." I exhaled heavily. "They won't be hunting here, but they'll be hunting somewhere. That's just how things are when you live in a world with monsters."

He shivered, and I was surprised at the strength of the course of relief that shook me.

"Finally," I muttered, "a rational response. I was beginning to think you had no sense of self-preservation at all."

He didn't respond, he was looking around the room.

"It's not what you expected, is it?" I teased. I wondered if he really was thinking about our living space, wondering about all it entailed—or, rather, did not—or if his mind was steadily spiraling into horror, despair and shock. I hoped I could joke the answer out of him.

"No," he admitted.

"No coffins, no piled skulls in the corners; I don't even think we have cobwebs… what a disappointment this must be for you," I quipped.

"I didn't expect it to be so light and so… open."

"It's the one place we never have to hide," I stated, serious now.

His lullaby was coming to an end, drifting toward the irrefutable, melancholic end. The last note hung in the air, almost palpable in its irresolvable sadness. I felt the weight of it in my chest—mourning our inevitable ending. Because it would come, eventually.

Beau cleared his throat. "Thank you."

I stared into his eyes, seeing the sadness there, watching the emotion pass like sand through a sieve. They were soft with affection, and I allowed myself to bask in their bright warmth for a time.

I didn't see how I could change the ending of the story. This adventure of ours felt like a fairy tale now, but how could it contain a happy ending, when a monster was in love with an angel?

Finally, I sighed, shaking my head—coming up with no foreseeable solution.

"Would you like to see the rest of the house?"

"Will there be piled skulls in any corners?"

I struggled to resurrect my lighter mood from before. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Well, okay, but my expectations are pretty low now," he quipped, and I forced a smile—knowing it didn't quite meet my eyes.

I took his hand and guided him up the grand staircase to the second floor, naming rooms as we passed them.

"Royal and Eleanor's room… Carine's office… Archie's room…" I would have continued, but Beau came to an abrupt, skittish halt at the end of the corridor, staring at the wall in front of us.

I laughed at his aghast, bewildered expression.

"Ironic, I know."

"It must be very old."

I shrugged. As I'd stated before, time meant something different to the immortal than it did to the mortal. "Early sixteen-thirties, more or less."

Finally, he tore his eyes away from the large, ornamental cross hanging on the wall to gaze down at me.

"Why do you have this here?"

"Nostalgia. It belonged to Carine's father."

"He collected antiques?"

"No." I paused for hardly a fraction of a second, deliberating. "He carved this himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached."

Beau attempted, insufficiently, to cover his shock as he turned his eyes back to the cross. I could see him working through the mental math. His eyebrows had pulled together, just slightly—I would have suspected he was simply concentrating on the mathematical task at hand if the topic hadn't quite been so personal.

"Are you all right?"

"How old is Carine?" His voice was quiet, and he kept his gaze averted.

"She just celebrated her three-hundred and sixty-second birthday," I indulged him, wondering how he would take this. Would this be the straw that broke the camel's back? "Carine was born in London in the sixteen-forties, she believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately then, for the common people anyway. It was just before Cromwell's rule, though."

He wasn't staggering away from me in horror yet, so I continued.

"She was the only daughter of an Anglican pastor. Her mother died in childbirth. Her father was… a hard man. Driven. He believed very strongly in the reality of evil. He led hunts for witches, werewolves… and vampires. They burned a lot of innocent people—of course, the real creatures that he sought were not so easy to catch.

Carine did what she could to protect these innocents. She was always a believer in the scientific method, and she tried to convince her father to look past superstition to true evidence. He discouraged her involvement. He did love her, and those who defended monsters were often lumped in with them.

"Her father was persistent… and obsessive. Against the odds, he tracked some evidence of real monsters. Carine begged him to be careful, and he listened, to an extent. Rather than charge in blindly, he waited and watched for a long time. He spied on a coven of true vampires who lived in the city sewers, only coming out by night to hunt. In those days, when monsters were not just myths and legends, that was the way many lived.

"His people gathered their pitchforks and torches, of course"—I laughed without humor. To think they assumed that was all it would take!—"and waited where the pastor had seen the monsters exit into the street. There were two access points. The pastor and a few of his men poured a vat of burning pitch into one, while the others waited beside the second for the monsters to emerge.

"Nothing happened. They waited a long time, and then left disappointed. The pastor was angry—there must have been other exits, and the vampires had obviously fled in fear. Of course, the men with their crude spears and axes weren't any kind of danger to a vampire, but he didn't know that. Now that they were warned, how would he ever find his monsters again?"

I paused, loath to continue. This part of the story had always troubled me, and I wondered if it would bring trouble to Beau, also. But I had decided that I would not shelter him any longer from these possibly disturbing facets of our history. I would allow him to process them as he so saw fit.

"It wasn't hard. He must have annoyed them. Vampires can't afford notoriety, or these probably would have simply massacred the entire mob. Instead, one of them followed him home.

Carine remembers the night clearly—for a human memory. It was the kind of thing that would stick in your mind." I could feel the claws of her memory dragging me back, with unrelenting force, swallowing me whole in their blackness. "Her father came home very late, or rather very early. Carine had waited up, worried. He was furious, ranting and raving about his loss. Carine tried to calm him, but he ignored her. And then there was a man in the middle of their small room.

Carine says he was ragged, dressed like a beggar, but his face was beautiful and he spoke in Latin. Because of her father's vocation and her own curiosity, Carine was unusually educated for a woman in those days—she understood what the man said. He told her father that he was a fool and he would pay for the damage he had caused. The preacher threw himself in front of his daughter to protect her…

"I often wonder about that moment. If he hadn't revealed what he loved most, would all our stories have changed?"

I considered that for a moment—the possibility of Carine, going on to live a full, human life. Dying in her time—and as a result, each of us succumbing to our own demises—influenza, suicide, mafia beatings, bear attacks… And if I had died nearly one hundred years ago like fate might have liked… I would never have lived long enough to meet Beau. I had never resented Carine for changing me, but in this moment, I had never been more glad for my immortal nature.

"The vampire smiled. He told the preacher, 'Go to your hell knowing this—that what you love will become all that you hate.'

He tossed the preacher to the side and grabbed Carine—" Inhaling the scorching air between us brought me back to the present, and I stared into Beau's eyes, remembering that I needed to be careful with these next words. I did not want to concern him with needless details.

"What happened?" he prodded.

I formed the sentences carefully. "He made sure that the preacher knew what would happen to Carine, and then he killed the preacher very slowly while Carine watched, writhing in pain and horror."

Beau flinched, and I nodded sympathetically. It was an awful, heartbreaking story.

"The vampire left," I went on, "Carine knew her fate if someone found her in this condition. Anything infected by the monster would have to be destroyed. She acted instinctively to save her own life. Despite the pain she was in, she crawled into the cellar and buried herself in a pile of rotting potatoes for three days. It's a miracle she was able to keep silent, to stay undiscovered.

It was over then, and she realized what she had become."

I examined Beau's face for any signs of shock, but other than the one moment of recoil, he'd stayed serene and cool through the entire tale.

"How are you feeling?" I asked him. Suddenly, I was glad for the copious amounts of sugar and caffeine downstairs—if Earnest hadn't done away with it all, yet. We might need it if Beau happened to lapse into shock.

"I'm good," he said, though, and his voice was steady and strong. "What happened next?"

I half-smiled, impressed by his unrelenting fervor and bravery. I turned back toward Carine's office, linking my hand with his again.

"Come on, then. I'll show you."

…

 **A/N:** I'm beginning to realize that I empathize with Edythe more than I'd realized. She believes in heaven and hell; and she believes she knows her place amongst those two worlds. She tries very, very hard to overcome her 'sinful' nature, and to transcend the way of life she never wanted to resign herself to.

It makes it easier to understand her angst, her struggle, her continuous self-sacrificing nature. I was so, so angry with Edward when I first read New Moon—I was… I don't know… fourteen or fifteen, and I knew nothing of love, nothing of life, nothing of sin and redemption…

Now that the years have passed and I've grown in my relationship with the Lord, and I've fallen in love—like true, REAL love—I get it. I understand. I would leave in a heartbeat if it proved safer for my husband.

And maybe I'm thinking too much about it… Possibly, I am. But I've developed a very odd kinship with this metaphorical character. Ah, Edythe. I get you, girl.

Leave your thoughts in a review if you'd like! See you soon! xo


	16. Carine

**A/N:** Phew. So sorry for getting all theological and spiritual on you guys at the end of last chapter xD I'll try not to get so weird again… I took some liberty with this chapter. You'll see evidence of that toward the end.

…

I knocked on the door to Carine's office—more a formality than for actual permission. She'd heard me telling Beau her story.

 _Come in._ "Come in," Carine repeated the thought aloud, for Beau's sake.

We stepped into her office and found her sitting behind her massive mahogany desk, slipping a place marker into the newest _Body of Health_ encyclopedia. "What can I do for you?" she inquired openly.

"I wanted to show Beau some of our history," I explained, "Well, your history, actually."

"We didn't mean to disturb you," Beau jumped in.

"Not at all," she reassured him, and then turned to me. "Where are you going to start?"

"The Waggoner," I decided, and rotated Beau so that he was facing the door we'd come in. I watched him take in the wall, packed with framed paintings, ones Carine had been collecting over her many years of existence, and had kept as mementos.

I towed him to the far left side of the wall, putting both hands on his arms—his heart skipped into a jog—and situated him in front of the painting in question. The Waggoner.

Carine noticed the acceleration of his breathing and heart rates with amusement.

 _Quite reactionary,_ she mused. She surmised his physiological response was due to the fact that I had my hands on him. She'd noticed it downstairs earlier, and had wondered about it then, but hadn't confirmed her suspicions until now.

An odd, glowing feeling filled me with pride.

"London in the sixteen-fifties," I explained, watching Beau's face as his eyes roamed over the small, sepia-toned painting at eye level.

"The London of my youth," Carine expounded.

Beau jumped at Carine's sudden closeness.

 _Oh, my apologies, Edythe,_ she thought, _I'm unpracticed at maintaining the pretense at home._

I nodded slightly to acknowledge her apology, and reached to squeeze Beau's hand gently in reassurance. Once again, I marveled over how effortless it was to touch him now, when it had been a great difficultly only two days prior.

"Will you tell the story?" I asked Carine.

We both turned to look at her, and Carine cast Beau a soft, friendly smile, still feeling guilty over startling him. She wanted him to feel comfortable in her home.

"I would, but I'm actually running a bit late," she apologized, "The hospital called this morning—Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. But Beau won't miss anything." She smiled at me. "You know the stories as well as I do."

She turned to exit her office, and then we were on our own.

I appreciated the high esteem my mother held me in. Revealing our secret to the mortal species was punishable by death, and undoubtedly, we would all be persecuted if Sulpicia and the Volturi were to discover our breach. But Carine trusted me with the information, leaving it up to me to judge how much I would tell him. Love was love to Carine, and like Earnest, she was confident we would find a way to make things work to our advantage.

I pushed the thoughts out of my head, the musings intent on heading headlong down the long-worn path of anxiety and angst—how each of our advantages were different things, mine and Beau's. What was in my best interest, was definitely not in his.

"What came next? When she knew what had happened to her?"

Grateful for his distraction, which pulled me from my swirling self-deprecation, I prodded him half a step to the right, focusing on the next painting in the story—an old English countryside at dusk, the jagged heights of dark cliffs sharp against the deep purple sky.

"When she knew what she had become, she despaired… and then rebelled." It was difficult to admit these things, even to myself. I was able to empathize with Carine's horror, with her aversion to the life she'd woken to. The possibilities that she had pondered were not specific only to her mind, and I might have taken them a step farther than ideations if I hadn't had her companionship to ground me. Many times I had despaired for her, knowing how lonely and frightened she had felt. "She tried to destroy herself," I continued, "But that's not easily done."

"How?" Beau's voice was sharp with shock.

I shrugged, naming off a few of the more unassuming attempts. "She jumped from great heights. She tried to drown herself in the ocean. But she was young to the new life, and very strong. It is amazing that she was able to resist… feeding… while she was still so new. The instinct is more powerful then, it takes over everything. But she was so repelled by herself that she had the strength to try to kill herself with starvation."

"Is that possible?" He was quieter now, serious.

"No," I told him, "There are very few ways we can be killed." I hastened on with my story, speaking over his parted lips, knowing what his next question would be, and not wanting to answer it. "So she grew very hungry, and eventually weak. She strayed as far as she could from the human populace, recognizing that her willpower was weakening, too. For months she wandered by night, seeking the loneliest places, loathing herself.

One night, a herd of deer passed beneath her hiding place." I stared hard at the painting, finding the cramped cavity in the Cliffside I imagined she'd isolated herself in for weeks. "She was so wild with thirst that she attacked without a thought. Her strength returned and she realized there was an alternative to being the vile monster she feared. Had she not eaten venison in her former life? Over the next months, her new philosophy was born. She could exist without being a demon. She found herself again.

"She began to make better use of her time. She'd always been intelligent, eager to learn. Now she had unlimited time before her. She studied by night, planned by day. She swam to France and—"

" _Swam_ to France?" Beau interrupted, flabbergasted.

I didn't see the novelty. "People swim the Channel all the time, Beau."

"That's true, I guess," he conceded. "It just sounded funny in that context. Go on."

"Swimming is easy for us—"

"Everything is easy for _you_ ," he interrupted once more.

I lifted my eyebrows impatiently. For one, there was much in my life that was _not_ easy—not even close. Secondly, if he wanted to hear the full story, he was going to have to stop using up my tolerance.

"Sorry. I won't interrupt again, I promise," he apologized.

I smiled, doubting that very much. " _Because_ ," I picked up where I left off, "technically, we don't need to breathe."

"You—"

"No, no, you promised," I teased, unable to mask my laughter. I had been right. I knew he'd interrupt again. I held my finger against his lips, feeling the blood rush and swirl underneath, feeling his hot breaths against my skin. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"You can't spring something like that on me, and then expect me not to any anything." He spoke against my finger, and his voice was muffled.

Tenderly, I dropped my hand to his chest, feeling the warm pounding of his heart against my palm.

"You don't have to _breathe_?"

"No, it's not necessary. Just a habit." I shrugged nonchalantly. I'd long become used to the new physiological reflexes.

"How long can you go… without _breathing_?" His tone was incredulous.

"Indefinitely, I suppose," I surmised, "I don't know. It gets a bit uncomfortable—being without a sense of smell."

"A bit… Uncomfortable…" he echoed blankly.

His face was expressionless. I watched him for a moment, wondering if this would be the thing that made him run, never to look back. I removed my hand from his chest, hanging my arms at my sides and stood very, very still, knowing I wasn't doing a very good job of masking my agony when his expression grew concerned.

"What is it?" he breathed, hand against my cheek.

The contact reanimated me, and I summoned a small smile. "I know that at some point, something I tell you or something you see is going to be too much. And then you'll run away from me, screaming as you go. I won't stop you when that happens. I _want_ it to happen, because I want you to be safe. And yet, I want to be with you. The two desires are impossible to reconcile…" I struggled for some kind of absolution.

"I'm not running anywhere," he said, the promise apparent in his voice.

"We'll see," I managed to joke.

He saw through my thinly veiled deflection and frowned. "Back to the story—Carine was swimming to France."

I paused to shake off the negative feelings, and to mull over the next part of the story. Automatically, my eyes flickered to the biggest painting on the wall—and the most ornately framed and colored. Sulpicia, and the Volturi. To us, this ancient Italian family was the closest thing to royalty we had, or law enforcement.

"Carine swam to France," I pushed on, "and continued on through Europe, to the universities there. By night she studied music, science, medicine—and found her calling, her penance, in that, in saving human lives… I can't adequately describe the struggle; it took Carine two centuries of torturous effort to perfect her self-control." I could hear the reverence in my voice when I spoke of my mother, and all that she had overcome. "Now she is all but immune to the scent of human blood, and she is able to do the work she loves without agony. She finds a great deal of peace there, at the hospital…" I trailed off, overwhelmed by the incomparable being my mother truly was. To be faced with a future so daunting, and to make a satisfying existence out of it… To find peace within the daily tortures of her life, to possess the ability to revolt against the very natures of our being, and to find contentedness in doing so…

I lifted a finger to tap against the frame of the painting, refocusing myself. I could go on and on about the worship-worthy qualities of my mother.

"She was studying in Italy when she discovered the others there. They were much more civilized and educated than the wraiths of the London sewers."

I gestured to the grouping in the painting, situated on the uppermost balcony, looking down over the undignified courts with an odd sort of tenderness.

One note of startled laughter escaped Beau's lips, and I saw him fix his eyes on the golden-haired figure standing off to the side—yes, it was Carine.

"Solimena was greatly inspired by Carine's friends," I indulged. "He often painted them as gods." I laughed, realizing they thought of their selves in much the same way. "Sulpicia, Marcus, and Athenodora." I pointed to each in reference. "Nighttime patrons of the arts."

"What about that one?" he inquired, finger hovering just above the small, plain looking girl, in neutral robes. She knelt at Sulpicia's feet, clinging to her skirts.

Automatic, instinctual unease rose inside me. "Mele. A… servant, I suppose you could call her. Sulpicia's little thief."

"What happened to them?"

"They're still there. As they have been for millennia. Carine stayed with them only for a short time, just a few decades. She admitted their civility, their refinement, but they persisted in trying to cure her aversion to her 'natural food source', as they called it. They tried to persuade her, and she tried to persuade them, to no avail. Eventually, Carine decided to try the New World. She dreamed of finding others like herself. She was very lonely, you see.

"She didn't find anyone for a long time. But as monsters became the stuff of fairy tales, she found she could interact with unsuspecting humans as if she were one of them. She began working as a nurse—though her learning and skill exceeded that of the surgeons of the day, as a woman, she couldn't be accepted in another role. She did what she could to save patients from less able doctors when no one was looking. But though she worked closely with humans, the companionship she craved evaded her; she couldn't risk familiarity.

When the influenza epidemic hit, she was working nights in a hospital in Chicago. She'd been turning over an idea in her mind for several years, and she had almost decided to act—since she couldn't find a companion, she would create one. She wasn't sure which parts of her own transformation were actually necessary, and which were simply for the enjoyment of her sadistic creator, so she was hesitant." Carefully, I steered around the more inhumane parts of the story. Surely, Beau did not need to be made aware of the tortures she'd endured during her transformation—as if the burn of the venom was not enough. "And she was loath to steal anyone's life the way hers had been stolen. It was in that frame of mind that she found me. There was no hope for me; I was left in a ward with the dying. She had nursed my parents, and knew I was alone. She decided to try…"

The memories were clearer through Carine's mind, of course, and I stared out the window, not quite seeing the landscape below—instead, watching the various clips of those final days of my human life, through her eyes.

The fierce protectiveness of my father, working over me even as he faded quickly, his desperate pleas for her to save me… His jewel-green eyes wild with fever and delusion… The way he'd clung to her apron with pale, clammy hands, imploring her; he knew she could do more than was usual, he begged her to save me at any and all cost… And the small pieces of—now antique—jewelry he'd slipped into my hand the night before he died, as Carine watched from the doorway… The slim rings—they'd been my mother's—felt cool against my feverish skin.

She didn't know if Edward Masen knew what she was, or if he knew she was not quite human—of course, she suspected it—but his desperation made the final decision for her. The next morning, after he'd died and I was left a failing and doomed orphan, she began my transformation.

Loath to describe the explicit details of this part of the story, I cut it off short.

"And so we've come full circle."

"So you've always been with Carine?" he asked.

"Almost always."

Not wanting to share my insurgent days with him, I grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the hallway, searching for another distraction. As we left through the office door, Beau resisted, just a small bit, gazing back at the paintings and topographies we left behind.

We headed toward the stairs at the end of the hallway in mutual silence, until Beau spoke.

"Almost?"

I sighed—I should have known he would have picked up on that, though I'd done my best to be blasé. He was far more perceptive than I'd ever given him credit for.

"You don't want to answer that, do you?"

"It wasn't my finest hour," I confessed. I hoped he would leave it at that.

We began to climb the stairs to the third level.

"You can tell me anything," he told me quietly.

I paused when we reached the landing, and stared into his eyes for a long moment. I deliberated with my internal struggles—the parts that wanted him to stay; the parts that wanted him to go, to be safe. Hadn't I promised myself to lay everything at his feet, so that he could make the judicious choice for himself?

"I suppose I owe you that," I finally said, "You should know who I am."

I examined his face for any sign of apprehension, sure that he would not be able to process this without judgment—as he _shouldn't_. I was a despicable monster, and I did not expect him to ignore these very logical, very rational judgments about the darkest side of myself.

I took a breath, bracing myself for his reaction. At least he'd brought his truck, so he could drive himself home.

"I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence—about ten years after I was… born… created, whatever you want to call it. I wasn't sold on Carine's life of abstinence, and I resented her for curbing my appetite. So… I went off on my own for a time." I waited for his shouts of terror and disgust, for his staggering steps back down the stairs, toward the front door.

"Really?" he said in a way that belied his strange curiosity.

"That doesn't repulse you?" I was stunned—unable to quite believe it.

"No," he said.

"Why not?"

"I guess… it sounds reasonable."

I laughed, one, hard sharp note of disbelief. Of course, why had I not expected the unexpected? I rolled my eyes as I turned away from him and pulled him down the hall.

"From the time of my new birth, I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking, both human and non-human alike. That's why it took me ten years to defy Carine—I could read her perfect sincerity, understand exactly why she lived the way she did.

It took me only a few years to return to Carine and recommit to her vision. I thought I would be exempt from the… depression… that accompanies a conscience. Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the innocent and pursue only evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl—if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible." I glanced at him from the sides of my eyes, but he wasn't looking at me. He stared somewhere past my shoulder, deeply concentrated on my story. "But as time went on, I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn't escape the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified. And I went back to Carine and Earnest. They welcomed me back like the prodigal." A lump rose in the back of my throat as I remembered that day—their tearless sobs of elation, their embraces, the way neither of them had held a stitch of animosity toward me for defying them… "It was more than I deserved."

We'd come to a halt at the end of the hallway—I'd timed my story to end here. I had already given him more information than I'd wanted to share. But his expression was still fathomless. I was expecting to see some sort of fear or trepidation, but there was nothing but understanding and concentration in his eyes.

"My room," I announced. I pulled the door open and stepped inside, dragging Beau behind me.

I stood beside him, watching him take it in—the wall of windows on the south wall, overlooking the Sol Duc river and the mountain range beyond it, the western wall dominated by the shelves of CD's.

His eyes roamed over the thick gold carpeting and the fabric covered walls.

"Good acoustics?" he guessed.

I laughed and nodded. He missed nothing!

I picked up the remote from where it laid nearby and turned the stereo on to whatever had been playing weeks ago. I hadn't sat in here and listened to music in a long time. Part of it was to demonstrate said acoustics—another part was to fill the silence. I felt oddly vulnerable underneath his scrutiny.

He crossed the room to peruse the shelves of CD's, and I stayed where I was, watching his profile as he examined the multitudinous titles.

Part of me had craved this—having everything out in the open, the walls between us demolished. But I had not expected how _good_ it would feel. It was like a thousand ton weight had been lifted off my chest, and I could finally breathe. Truly breathe, in a way I hadn't done in eighty odd years. It was blissfully liberating.

"How do you have these organized?" Beau's question broke me from my reverie, and I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Ummm, by year, and then by personal preference within that frame."

He turned to look at me. I wondered what my face was doing.

"What?" he demanded, his voice soft.

"I was prepared to feel… relieved. Having you know about everything, not needing to keep secrets from you. But I didn't expect to feel more than that. I _like_ it. It makes me… happy." The word wasn't quite accurate, but it served its purpose.

"I'm glad," he replied, smiling, and I realized that I was, too.

I appraised his expression then, finding no trace of apprehension there, not a hint of fear or tension. Abruptly, my mood fell. Yes, I had shared all my secrets, there was nothing left to hide… And Beau had reacted oddly calmly about the whole thing. First Carine's awful demise and rebirth; her depression; my rebelliousness… How could he stand here, knowing I'd committed too many murders to count, and _smile_ like that? How long would it take for him to truly process all of it? Would it be today? Or would it be sometime during the next week?

Beau read my troubled expression, and cocked an eyebrow. "You're still waiting for the running and screaming, aren't you?"

I nodded, suddenly warring with a smile. The audacity of his statement, his confidence… It was almost more enchanting than his bewilderment.

"I really hate to burst your bubble," he said, "but you're just not as scary as you think you are. I honestly can't imagine being afraid of you."

Surprise lifted my eyebrows—I could feel it—and then, slowly, I smiled. The casually spoken words were nothing if not a challenge.

"You probably shouldn't have said that."

I let a soft, playful growl rise from the back of my throat, watching his expression change, his eyes narrowing. I flashed my teeth at him, and crouched, preparing to pounce.

"Um… Edythe?"

The wide-eyed bewilderment… The sweet, sweet swirling galaxy in his eyes…

I launched myself at him, trapping him in my stone embrace as we cartwheeled through the air across the room. My black leather sofa slid across the floor and smacked into the wall when we landed. I kept my elbows flexed so that my arms would absorb his landing, careful to situate my other limbs on the piece of furniture around him so that I wouldn't injure him.

I situated my knees on either side of his hips, arms forming bone-colored cages on either side of his head so that he wouldn't be able to escape. Mostly because I was enjoying our closeness too much. The heat coming off his skin and soaking through my clothes was delicious, heady. My head swirled with his fragrance, his proximity, the closeness of his lips.

Suddenly I wanted to press my body closer to his, touch my mouth to his…

An unconscious sound vibrated in my chest, a purring sound of affection.

Beau's eyes were wide, pupils dilated, as he stared up at me. Hair askew, adorable rooster's tail sticking up in the back, as always. His heart was pounding, and if I bowed my arms just so, I could press my chest to his and feel it.

"Wow," he breathed, stunned. I was thoroughly enjoying this, more than I had thought I would. My thirst instinct had been shuffled to the back of my mind, predominated more-so by the playfulness, the ardor, the lust…

"You were saying?" I leered at him.

"Um, that you are a very, very terrifying monster." His voice was breathless, and the bursts of hot air that washed over my lips and cheeks did strange things to my thought directives. Scattering them, swirling everything together in a rosy, floating blur.

I grinned at him. "Much better," I approved.

"And that I am _so_ completely in love with you," he added. His voice was quiet and husky and completely serious.

Stunned, my stomach twisted at his sweetly-spoken words, and—how could it be?—my dead heart seemed to lurch. Tenderness replaced the playfulness.

"Beau…"

I was just about to lean down to kiss him, when I heard Jess and Archie approach.

"Can we come in?" Archie asked from the door.

Beau jolted half-way up into a seated position. He probably would have smacked his forehead against my own if I hadn't been quicker, pulling him up and rotating him so that his back was pressed against the backrest, his feet on the floor. Then I draped my legs across his lap, an embrace that I adored. This was far safer, not to mention appropriate, for visitor's eyes.

Archie was standing in the doorway, watching our playfulness with amusement—of course, he hadn't missed a thing. Jessamine, however, was stunned by our interactions. Her mind was whirling.

 _How can she stand to be so close to him…? Isn't the bloodlust overwhelming?!_

"Please," I said to Archie, who waltzed to the center of my room and folded himself onto the carpet.

Jess lingered in the doorway, watching my face with skeptic doubt. She wondered if I was completely in control—how I _could_ be, with the rush of blood under Beau's skin swirling in the air between us.

Archie recognized his wife's discomfort and decided to tease her, as well as Beau, who he saw he would get a reaction out of. "It sounded like you were having Beau for lunch, and we came to see if you would share."

Beau tensed underneath me, and I grinned.

"Sorry." I threw a faux territorial arm around his neck, "I'm not in a mood to share."

Archie shrugged. "Fair enough," he conceded jokingly.

Of course, no one could fool Jessamine with theatrics for long. She recognized the mood in the air—my playfulness, my tenderness, my lust—purely for the body of the human boy next to me, the desire for his blood nowhere near comparable… This, she hesitated over for a moment, wondering how that could be so…

But she smirked, knowing she'd been played, and stepped a little further into the room, the tension fading from her thoughts. "Actually, Archie says there's going to be a real storm tonight, and Eleanor wants to play ball. Are you game?"

Excitement automatically flared. I loved our family's ball games. We didn't get the chance to play often—thunderstorms were rare in the Olympic Peninsula—but I remembered Beau.

"Of course you should bring Beau," Archie answered in reply to my tacit concern.

Jessamine threw him a glance. _That can't be safe, can it?_ she wondered.

"Do you want to go?" I asked, turning to Beau. I didn't think I was quite able to hide my enthusiasm. If he didn't want to, I wouldn't go, however.

"Sure," he agreed immediately, only heightening my eagerness, "Um, where are we going?"

"We have to wait for thunder to play ball," I explained, "You'll see why."

"Should I bring an umbrella?" he asked, and the three of us burst into laughter. We were entirely unreceptive to the downfall, so this struck us as quite amusing; Beau, however, was not so waterproof.

"Should he?" Jess asked Archie.

"No. The storm will hit over town. It'll be dry enough in the clearing."

"Good," Jess enthused, and her excitement crackled, infectious, through the air.

 _We'll leave you two alone now,_ Archie teased as he unfolded himself from the floor, _Have fun!_

"Let's call Carine and see if she's in," he said to Jess as he rose.

"Like you don't already know," she replied teasingly as they headed back down the hall.

Archie shut the door quietly behind him, his thoughts playful and slightly suggestive in a brotherly, teasing way. I rolled my eyes.

"So… what are we playing?" Beau asked when they were gone.

" _You_ will be watching," I refined. " _We_ will be playing baseball."

He gave me a skeptical look. "Vampires like baseball?"

I grinned at him, not missing how much easier the word slipped from his lips now. It was something more—it was an acceptance I hadn't been prepared to feel. My good mood vaulted even higher.

"It's the American pastime."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I pressed my cheek to Beau's heart, listening to its mellow pulse. Every once in awhile it picked up and then slowed down, and he inhaled suddenly, as if he were about to say something.

I closed my eyes, just enjoying his closeness. Eventually, we would need to take his truck home, but for now I was content to go nowhere at all.

"So…" he finally said.

"Hmm?" I lifted my head, my nose brushing against the pale column of his throat, bumping past his Adam's apple and catching on the crook under his jaw. His breath grew jagged as my lips followed the same path.

It had been hours and hours since the same sort of desperation for his blood had burned my throat. And of course, I was on fire while I inhaled the succulent fragrance of his skin, yes, but I was elated to know that I was firmly in control of the reflex. I let the other desires win out for a moment, or two.

"Um…"

I grinned against his skin, inhaling the scent at the soft spot behind his ear, and then pressed my lips there. "Yes?" I whispered.

He shivered. "Will… Um… Everyone be at—the game?" His breaths were coming in shorter gasps, his heart pounding as I laced my arms around his neck and pulled myself up so I could kiss his face.

"Mmm," I hummed against his cheek, "Everyone?"

"Yeah," he gasped. "Eleanor, and Earnest, and um…" He gulped when I ran my fingers down his neck and across his shoulders. "Royal?"

I paused, hands on his sides, able to feel each curve of his ribs through his pullover.

"El and Royal will play," I said, "Earnest will come if Carine can get off work in time." I pulled back to look into his eyes, which were unfocused and dazed. "Would that be alright with you?"

"Fine by me," he assured me, but there was something there in his face, underneath the muddled expression.

Hmm. I would have to have a talk with Royal.

But for now…

I leaned back in, pressing my lips to his jugular, feeling the delicious flow of blood beneath the thin membrane. I carried the kisses back up over his jaw, his chin, brushing my top lip against his bottom one.

Automatically, his lips parted, pulling in ragged gasps of air, and his hands slid around my waist, pressing hard.

"Breathe, Beau," I whispered against his mouth.

His mouth opened and shut against mine a few times, as if he were trying to form words but couldn't.

Strange, intense desires were coursing like a life force through my desiccated veins, swirling in my stomach and my head. I pulled back an inch to allow the excitement in my body to subside.

Beau stayed obediently still, eyes shut tight, breath coming in harsh gasps.

When his jagged breathing and explicatory heart rate had calmed enough, I leaned back in to press my lips to his again. Immediately, his heart rate rocketed into high gear. I kissed him softly, slowly, brushing the tips of my fingers across his jawline, and around the back of his neck—aware of just how delicate he was, the thin, fragile structure of his spinal cord, his skull…

But I was firmly in control, as I pressed my lips just incrementally harder to his, feeling them give around my marble stability, tasting his essence on my lips… His breaths burst harder against my mouth, over my nose, and I knew I had reached my limit.

I pulled back and lowered my cheek back to his heart, feeling it, as well as hearing it, knock around wildly inside his ribcage.

"Are you alright?" I whispered.

He shuddered, and his arms flexed around me. "More than alright, I think."

I smiled softly, content, running my fingers back and forth over the bump at the edge of his shoulder, where his clavicle connected to his acromion.

My throat flamed with desire, and I stood, acknowledging that my body had had enough experimenting for one day.

I reached down for his hand. "Time to go."

…

 **A/N:** Reviews are, as always, appreciated. And don't forget to check out Edythe's playlist on 8tracks! It's under the title of 'you pull me in like the moon pulls on the tide'. My username is wintersunshine. I posted the link in an earlier chapter—chapter 12, I think.

See you next time, lovelies! xo


	17. The Game

**A/N:** "Thunder" by Imagine Dragons would fit perfectly into the ball game montage. If you haven't heard the song, go listen to it. It's a fun one. In fact, pretty much anything by Imagine Dragons is awesome, in my books.

Uploads are happening more frequently now because I'm far enough ahead with the rough drafts that I feel comfortable. Are you keeping up? ;)

Enjoy this one, lovelies!

…

It was just beginning to spit rain when I pulled the truck onto Beau's street. According to Archie, the storm wasn't due to hit for several more hours. I hadn't been paying close enough attention, my mind still lingering back in my bedroom, and so I was taken by surprise by the humans standing on the front porch, shielding themselves from the light rain, under the eave.

I would have disapproved anyway—I had been hoping to spend some of the afternoon at Beau's side, as he whiled the Sunday afternoon away as he usually did. Homework, household chores… But then I caught Bonnie Black's intentions.

"Damn those meddlesome Quileutes," I muttered angrily under my breath. I parked against the curb and glared at the two people standing at the door. Bonnie was resolute; Julie Black was mortified, and nervous about being near Beau again. Her infatuation had not faded, I noted with censure.

Bonnie was still piecing together her soliloquy, how she would go about warning Charlie about my dangerous interference in her son's life, all without breaking the treaty. That, and without upsetting Charlie. Apparently they'd butted heads over this in the past.

"This is crossing the line," I spat, outraged. I had thought this red flag had been averted!

"She came to warn Charlie?" Beau guessed.

I nodded, narrowing my eyes at Bonnie Black. She stared me down with a stone-hard expression, her thoughts disparaging and critical. Underneath the disapproval, she was terrified of me, and that made me smug.

"Let me deal with this," Beau said then.

"That's probably for the best," I agreed. I couldn't completely trust myself with my heightened state of emotion at this time, and I didn't want to give the middle-aged woman more reason to warn the Swans off. "Be careful, though. The child has no idea."

" _Child_?" Beau blurted, "You know, Jules is not that much younger than I am."

"Oh, I know." I grinned at him. I was surprised by the intensity of the possessive jealousy coursing through me. Julie Black was infatuated by my Beau, and I wasn't keen on putting her in any good light. He was _mine_.

"Get them inside so I can leave. I'll be back around dusk." I hated to leave, but it was time. I could not stay here. Besides, I had conversations to attend to…

"You can take the truck."

I rolled my eyes at his offer. "I could _walk_ home faster than this truck moves."

"You don't have to go," he protested, his tone dejected.

Affectionately, I laid the tip of my finger against the corner of his downturned lips. "Actually, I do," I insisted glumly. "After you get rid of them, you still have to prepare Charlie to meet your new girlfriend." And my tone brightened at that.

I knew this would distract him, and I laughed at his less-than-ecstatic expression.

"I'll be back soon," I vowed to him. Then I checked to see if the Blacks were still watching. With mischievous delight, finding that they were, I bowed my head to press my lips briefly to Beau's neck.

Bonnie's vision went metaphorically red, and her thoughts were a conglomeration of outraged displeasure.

" _Soon_ ," Beau insisted when I pulled back. Then he pushed his door open and stepped out onto the curb.

I watched with unerring anxiety as he jogged toward the cover of the overhanging roof and greeted the Blacks.

"Charlie's gone for the day," he told them, "I hope you haven't been waiting long." His tone was unduly upbeat, and Bonnie didn't miss that. Her intuition flashed. She suspected he knew my secrets, and I cursed quietly.

"Not long," she said now, trying very hard to ignore my presence, "I just wanted to bring this up." She pointed to the large, stinking paper sack in her lap.

"Thanks. Why don't you come in for a minute and dry off?"

He unlocked the door and let the ladies in ahead of himself. Julie's thoughts were giddy and shy when he shot her a half-smile as she passed. My hands fisted in my pockets.

 _Man, those eyes!_ she sighed internally, completely smitten. She didn't quite approve of her mother's pushiness, but she was glad for the opportunity to see Beau again either way.

Beau turned to cast one long glance at me, eyes locking with mine.

I had no patience for Bonnie's intrusive meddling, or Julie's girlish pining, and as soon as the door shut behind them, I headed for home.

…

El and Royal were in the garage when I arrived.

"Hey," El greeted me. She was sitting on the floor, acting as a jack for Royal, while he worked on the undercarriage of his car. "You playing ball later?"

"Of course," I replied. "Is it alright if I borrow the Jeep? To drive Beau to the end of the road?"

Royal made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat, and I tensed.

I barely heard El's assent, because I'd whirled toward my brother now and was glaring at him. "Do you have something to say to me?" I snapped at him.

I was beyond irked with his insolence—even if I knew what caused it. The rest of my family, despite their various differences, had accepted Beau and welcomed him with metaphorical open arms. I couldn't see why Royal wouldn't just put his feelings aside, for _once_ , and do the same.

He ducked out from under the car and sat up to appraise me with hard eyes. "Not particularly."

I felt my top lip pull back into a snarl. "I'm not going to stand for your behavior anymore, Royal, I mean it—I've given you plenty of liberty, but if there is one thing I want you to understand, it is this: Beau is my life now, and I have no more tolerance for your crass attitude. If you have a problem, take it up with me. Beau stays out of this. He will be at the game tonight, and if I hear so much as a leering snarl from your mouth, you _will_ regret it. I don't expect you to change your thoughts, but your actions toward Beau _will_ change, and they will change starting _now_."

Royal's thoughts were sullen and angry, but wisely, he did not say anything. He only stared me down, his expression coiling in response to mine.

"Got it?" I snapped.

He rolled his eyes.

I snarled in furious exasperation, and then El was there between us, a hand on my shoulder.

 _Chill out_ , she thought. She didn't like to see us fight, though it happened regularly enough. _Get out of here and cool off._

Royal was standing now, towering over me, but I did not back down from my offensive position. I was not retreating until I knew I had his word.

 _You want to know what I think?_ His eyes were narrowed, the gold in them glinting with fury.

"Do tell me," I hissed acridly.

 _I think your tragic little love story is over before it's started. Are you really so dull to not see how this will inevitably end? He's_ human _, Edythe. Your world and his do not fit together. He'll age, and grow to want things you can't give him—things you won't_ ever _be able to give him. It's only a matter of time before he winds up dead—_

An infuriated snarl ripped up my throat, and I lurched forward. But Eleanor held onto my arm, impeding my attack.

I felt exposed and vulnerable in the face of Royal's musings. It wasn't that I didn't believe his words—in fact, I believed every last one of them. But _I_ wasn't resigned to the future he predicted for us. I would do everything in my power to forge a new path—a path of safety and security for Beau.

"You shut the hell up!" I demanded, my voice shrill and metallic with rage. I hurled a few colorful insults at him before Earnest was standing in the garage doorway.

Royal didn't say another word, but his thoughts were smug—he knew he'd hit a nerve, and that was enough for him to feel satisfied about the whole thing.

"That's enough," Earnest said now, his voice low and authoritative. "Edythe? A word, please?"

I didn't take my glare off Royal. I suppressed the sudden urge to tear his arm from his body. It wouldn't permanently injure him; he'd piece himself back together easily enough, but it would sure hurt like hell, and that would satisfy me. It wasn't enough that he'd been so willing to kill Beau weeks ago. It wasn't enough that, even in the face of all the risks and chances Beau was taking, Royal _still_ somehow found a way to make it about himself. He had to hate Beau for reasons that went beyond his own petty jealousy, too. Most of all, I hated that he was _right_.

"Edythe," Earnest repeated now.

I turned slowly away from Eleanor and Royal, keeping my eyes on his until the last second. As I jerked my arm from El's grasp, I turned to let a terrifying roar issue from between my teeth. My quick advance took El off guard, and so I was able to move past her, to sneer into Royal's face before she could react.

" _Edythe_ ," Earnest said again, more firmly.

I stared for just a moment longer at the non-reaction on Royal's face, arms folded securely across his chest, one eyebrow raised cockily. I wanted to reach up and smack that self-righteous simper off his face, I really did, but I could hear, underneath the firm paternal authority, Earnest's anxious and concerned thoughts. He didn't want a fight breaking out—he hated any sort of confrontational violence, and so I jerked myself out of my bellicose stance and stalked out the door. A moment later, Earnest followed me toward the house.

Upstairs, I slouched sullenly into the chair in Earnest's office. There were blueprints spread out on his desk, and paint samples on the conversation table across the room. In the corner, Tchaikovsky's _Waltz of the Flowers_ played on his stereo, and I immersed myself in the notes, knowing it would help to calm me.

 _Allow your mother and I to work on Roy. His distress is understandable. El has been talking at length with him about it. Give him some grace._

"Grace," I scoffed, folding my arms petulantly across my chest.

 _Royal is your brother._ Earnest's inner voice was fiercer now. _We are a family, and I expect you two to act like it. He'll come around sooner or later._

I sighed and lifted my eyes to his. "Let's hope it's sooner."

Earnest heard my tone relax and offered me a small sympathetic smile, his eyes twinkling. _Let's_ , he agreed.

He came to sit on the armrest of the chair I was curled up in, and wrapped an arm around me. He pulled me to his chest, resting his cheek on top of my head. For a short moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in companionable silence until my territorial fury had faded completely.

Then Earnest sighed.

 _He's a very brave boy. We didn't scare him too much?_

I smirked, my head still against his shoulder. "Not one bit," I assured him, "Beau is… Resilient."

 _Clearly._

"He's coming to the baseball game," I added.

 _Ah. Wonderful. I'll have a chance to get to know him a bit better… He really is perfect for you, Edythe. You two are wonderful together… I have faith in you, dear daughter. You'll find some sort of compromise—and whichever conclusion you come to, we'll support you wholeheartedly._

"All except for Royal," I muttered, but the bitter acid was gone from my tone. The territorial anger had passed, and I was sure Royal would comply with my request to show some class from now on.

Earnest laughed out loud now. "Ah," he murmured, "We'll keep working on Royal." He smoothed his hand over the top of my head and then leant over to kiss my hair. "Run along now, and make your preparations," he urged, "We'll meet you at the field."

…

The rain had picked up significantly by the time I pulled into Beau's neighborhood. It was pelting down in sheets, and in the distance, I watched sheet lightening turn the sky electric lilac.

Yes, the storm would be impressive—of course, Archie had been correct in that assumption. Also true to his predictions, it appeared to be heading west, and would keep a safe distance from us out east.

El's Jeep was… Notable, to say the least. It was fitted with top-grade oversized tires—coming up past my waist. It was also equipped with fog lights, light guards, and a roll bar. I hardly felt the need to ride along with Eleanor in the Jeep most of the time, but I had assumed it would provide adequate protection for Beau, until we got to the end of the logger path. I wouldn't carry Beau through the pouring rain. It wouldn't bother me, but I was sure it would at least cause him some discomfort. I didn't want him catching cold. Besides, I had pretenses to keep up for the Chief.

I was just in time to hear Charlie's raucous laughter, and I didn't have to wait long to hear the reasoning behind it.

 _"I hope you're getting that out of your system now."_ Beau sounded disapproving, but of course, I did not know why.

 _"Baseball, huh?"_ Charlie was still chortling, _"You must really like this girl."_

Ah, he had told his father about me. That was good. It got some of the pre-emptives out of the way. I found brief amusement in the object of his humor—Beau, playing baseball—but the humor evaporated at the sound of Beau's response.

 _"Yeah. I really do."_ I did not miss the ardor in his voice, and I didn't think Charlie did, either, because his thoughts turned curious.

I pulled up to the house then, and cut the engine.

 _"That her?"_

 _"Maybe…"_

Of course, I thought as I headed up the driveway, he wouldn't recognize the sound of _this_ vehicle. I noted with some amusement that it was nearly as loud as his truck was. However, it sounded _far_ healthier.

I rang the bell and then stepped back to await my reception. There were racing footsteps down the hallway on the other side of the door, bodies bumping against each other, and then a hand twisting the doorknob jerkily. I struggled to hide my mirth.

"Pushy much?" I heard Charlie mutter.

Beau yanked the door open wide, and then stared. Behind him, I registered the shock combined with the intimidation in Charlie's mind. Obviously, the lack of preservation was not hereditary. Charlie saw me as the predator I was—or could be, if I weren't keeping up a front.

Now, I laughed my soft, gentle laugh—the one I knew would most likely put Charlie at ease. "Can I come in?" I teased.

"Oh—yeah!" Beau blurted, and jumped back out of the doorframe to let me through, smacking right into his father in the process. "Of course. Can I take your jacket?"

"Please." I passed it to him, and he hung it up, fumbling it once. Once that was arranged, we went into the sitting room. I took the armchair, forcing Beau to take a seat beside his father on the loveseat. I wanted to watch his face as this conversation played out.

"So, Edythe," Charlie said conventionally, "How are your parents?"

"Excellent, thank you, Chief Swan," I replied, intent on being at my best. Regardless of the circumstances, I was still meeting my love interest's father for the first time, and my old-fashioned etiquette was not so dormant that I had forgotten how to use it.

It would please me to have Chief Swan like me, to be able to trust me with his son, no matter how ill assumed it was. Also, part of me hoped I would eventually convince him to think of me in higher regard than the Newton girl—but that was only secondary, of course.

"You can call me Charlie," he said, smiling easily, "I'm off the clock."

"Thanks, Charlie." I grinned.

He stared blankly for a moment, his thoughts numb. A second later, he recouped. "So, um, you're playing baseball tonight?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "Hopefully Beau doesn't mind hanging out with my family too much." In other words, _I'm so sorry that Royal will be there._

Beau started to say something—probably to protest, despite his obvious discomfort in my least-favorite brother's presence—but Charlie forged ahead. "I'd say it was the baseball he'd mind more."

Surprisingly clear, I could sense a memory in Charlie's mind. The summers he'd come to stay, Beau had apparently been put in little-league softball. He had never had any success—in fact, quite a few of the opposite occurrences—but the images of little, blue-eyed Beau were undeniably adorable. Even then, at four years old, he'd been gawkily enchanting.

Charlie and I laughed together at the memory—though he was sure I was laughing at his quip.

Beau shot his father an expression of mortified betrayal. Charlie didn't notice. Little did _he_ know, Charlie had shared more with me than he'd realized. It was just as adequate as baby pictures, without the employment of a photo album.

"Should we be on our way?" Beau asked, obviously uncomfortable. His knee bounced jerkily.

"We're not in any hurry," I teased—at least, _I_ wasn't.

Beau's elbow shot out to knock against his father, warning him not to embarrass him anymore, and I felt my grin widen at his ineffectual behavior. I was quite enjoying making Beau uncomfortable this way. It was rather captivating.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Charlie clued in, then. "You kids go ahead, I've got a… a bunch of stuff to get to…"

I got to my feet. "It was lovely to see you, Charlie."

"Yes," he agreed, "You come visit anytime, Edythe."

"Thank you, you're very kind."

We all walked back to the front door together. Charlie was feeling self-conscious and nervous, and there was a hint of self-recrimination in his thoughts. I wondered at the reasoning behind that.

"Will you kids be out super late?" he inquired.

Beau looked to me for an answer.

"No," I said, "we'll be reasonable."

"Don't wait up, though," Beau added.

He helped me into my jacket and then opened the door for me. I slid past him, out onto the porch, Beau right behind me. And then he skidded to an abrupt halt—knees locking like a skittish colt's.

His wide eyes were fixed on the Jeep, taking in its monstrous size, its shiny red sheen, intensified by the raindrops dotting its hood and hardtop.

In the doorway behind us, Charlie whistled—I couldn't clearly discern whether it was impressiveness or wariness that he was feeling. Maybe a bit of both. "Wear your seatbelts," he said.

Beau got the driver's side door for me, and I hopped in—glad that I'd parked with the passenger door to the house so that I could just hop on up, and not have to pretend to struggle.

I turned the ignition on, and then the heater reflexively. Beau got in on the other side, scrambling and nearly falling out once—though I was ready to catch him by the arm.

But he situated himself in the seat and automatically reached for his seatbelt, and then paused.

"What—er," he said, "What is all this? How do I…?"

"Off-roading harness."

Beau's scent was a physical entity inside the Jeep. Its notes swirled like wildfire in my throat, and I was taken quite by surprise by the venom that flooded my mouth, and the reflex that curled my muscles like a snake, poised to attack. I took a minute to compose myself.

"Um…" Beau said, entirely oblivious to my struggle.

He fumbled with the straps for half a second before I jumped in to help. I was surprised by the new intense desires that overtook my hunting instinct as my hands lingered on his sturdy shoulders and chest. The fire that sparked in my fingertips when they touched the bare skin of his neck, just above the collar of his rain jacket, was electrifying.

"Er, thanks," he said once I'd leaned back in my seat, hands on the wheel.

"You're welcome."

I pulled away from the curb, focused on moderating the dueling cravings inside me. One for his blood; the other for his body.

"This is a… um… large Jeep you have."

"It's Eleanor's," I explained, "She let me borrow it so we wouldn't have to run the whole way."

"Where do you keep this thing?" His tone was astonished.

"We remodeled one of the outbuildings into a garage."

There was a brief pause, and Beau's breathing cut off.

"Wait," he said, "Run the _whole_ way? As in, we're still going to run part of the way?" He sounded slightly panicked.

I pursed my lips to quash the smile of amusement that wanted to rise. "You're not going to run," I joked.

He groaned softly. " _I'm_ going to puke in front of your family."

"Keep your eyes closed," I suggested, "You'll be fine."

He shook his head, exhaling heavily, and then seemed to put the dilemma behind him. Yes, Beau was brave. Exceedingly so, and I felt a touch of pride. Despite what had happened last time, he was willing to give my form of transportation another chance. I appreciated that.

Then he reached over and weaved his fingers between mine. The resulting glowing heat was immediate—originating in my palm, and snaking up my arm, across my shoulder, and into my heart in one instantaneous motion. Like being injected with sunlight.

"Hi, I missed you." His voice was quiet, tender.

It had been a mere couple of hours since we'd parted—and now I understood the two young lovers from Romeo and Juliet… _Parting is such sweet sorrow…_

I was reminded again of just how differently I perceived time now—how my afternoon away from Beau had seemed so insurmountable.

I laughed at the dizzying change of perspective. "I missed you, too. Isn't that strange?"

"Why strange?" he asked.

"You'd think I'd have learned more patience over the last hundred years. And here I am, finding it difficult to pass an afternoon without you." It was ridiculous, really.

"I'm glad it's not just me," he confided.

I stretched across the space between us and kissed him quickly on the cheek. The fragrance of his skin stabbed down my throat. I leaned back, sighing.

"You smell even better in the rain."

"In a good way or a bad way?" he queried.

I frowned, disappointed in myself for my lack of control. Here I'd thought I'd done so well over the past twenty-four hours—and I was struggling, again, with the warring instincts. I had hoped this would have changed. I had hoped it would get better with practice, with time, and I was angry with myself that I wasn't just able to overcome the struggle already.

I turned onto the abandoned logging trail, which was really more path than road, it was so rudimental. I had to drive much more slowly than I would have liked to prevent injuring Beau. His belts were fastened securely, but that didn't stop him from jolting up and down in his seat the whole time.

The path took us into the dense forest for several miles before we reached the end, and I turned the ignition off. The headlights went out, and impenetrable jade, brown and purple shapes surrounded us.

Out here, the rain was nearly non-existent, and over the trees in the distance, off toward the field, the clouds were diminishing. We would outrun the drizzle in no time at all.

"Sorry, Beau, we have to go on foot from here," I apologized.

"You know what?" Did I detect a tremor in his voice? "I'll just wait here."

"What happened to all your courage?" I teased, "You were extraordinary this morning."

"I haven't forgotten the last time," he explained. His face was noticeably paler than usual.

So this would take some persuasion, then…

I hopped out of the Jeep and went around to his side, pulling open his door. I perched on the side-step and started undoing the buckles.

"I'll get those, you go on ahead," he argued.

But I was finished with the harness before he'd gotten halfway through the sentence.

Beau did not move. He sat unmoving in his seat, his panic-stricken, wary eyes fixed on my face.

"You don't trust me?" I batted my eyelashes at him, feigning hurt.

"That really isn't the issue," he protested, his voice tight with stress, "Trust and motion sickness have zero relationship to each other."

Hmm… Teasing wasn't working—I supposed I would have to pursue another avenue of action.

I remembered just how strong two of my own desires were, and how the craving for his body often outdid that for his blood. I thought about how my fears and anxieties often diminished in the face of our shared physical affection.

If I could just… Distract him… Maybe he would go along with my requests without too much trouble.

"Do you remember what I was saying about mind over matter?"

"Yes…" He sounded distrustful, careful.

"Maybe if you concentrated on something else…?"

"Like what?" He blinked at me, clueless.

I boosted myself up so that I was eye-level with him, settling my denim-clad knee on the seat next to his hip, and my hands on his shoulders. The warmth of his proximity palpitated against my skin, and a familiar tingling heat resonated in my lips—a physical remembrance of our former shared kisses.

"Keep breathing," I reminded him.

"How?" he gasped breathlessly.

I grinned in amusement, and then lapsed back into seriousness, the sensations he was creating in me swirling through my belly. The muscles of my core felt tight in an odd way, and the electric current passing up and down along my body was growing in intensity.

"When we're running—and yes, that part is nonnegotiable—I want you to concentrate on this."

The passionate eagerness had flared from somewhere deep inside me. It was like an itch that got worse every time I scratched it, and I was astonished at how difficult it was to resist.

So for now, with my head swirling, but otherwise very much in control, I forgot about boundaries, and complied with what the frenetic, smoldering longings my body craved.

I leaned in, touching my cheek softly to his, and closed my eyes. Each frantic throb of his heart vibrated through the rest of his body, the vessels underneath his skin pulsing against my cold stillness.

Making sure not to press too hard, I slid one of my hands very slowly down the center of his chest, to his waist.

"Just remember us…" I breathed against the outer shell of his ear, "Like this…"

With whisper-soft gentleness, I took his earlobe between my lips—keeping my teeth very carefully hidden away—and tugged. Then I moved my lips across the striking edge of his jaw, and down the fine pillar of his throat. His scent and pulse were stronger here, the vulnerable membrane throbbing against my lips.

"Breathe, Beau," I murmured against his skin, for he'd been holding his breath.

He drew a loud, jagged breath.

Then I dragged my lips back up over his jaw, and across the delicate shape of his pronounced cheekbone.

"Still worried?"

"Huh?" he breathed.

I giggled softly. It seemed my plan was working.

It was a heady mix—being made aware of the power I held over his body in this way, as well as the sensations being this close to him evoked in myself.

I put my hands on his face, holding him in place while I kissed each fluttering eyelid.

"Edythe," he whispered, and there was such ardent passion in his voice, it caused some coil to snap within me, and suddenly, I was being _far_ from careful.

I crushed my lips to his, harder than I should have, but I was self-possessed enough to know that it wasn't _too_ hard. In distracting Beau, I had more-than-sufficiently distracted myself, and I was leading solely with the desires now, too enamored to think totally logically.

Beau responded eagerly and immediately. His arms curled around my waist, fingers clawing and fisting at the slippery material of my jacket, and his lips parted against mine, exhaling his sweet fragrance across my face.

I wanted to ravage him, devour him… And like a switch—suddenly, it wasn't the lust for his body I was fighting anymore.

Before my hunting instinct could take over—the side that wanted to fist his hair in my hand, tug his head to one side, run my tongue up the blue trail of his carotid artery, and then sink my teeth through the thin, fragrant skin of his throat—I launched myself out of his arms and away from the Jeep. I landed on my feet in the forest bracken ten feet back, my back slamming into a thick madrone. It shuddered and swayed under the force of my impact.

"Dammit Beau!"

He blinked torpidly, chest heaving with frantic breaths. "Sorry," he wheezed.

I gazed at him carefully, waiting for my tight muscles to relax, the throbbing in my jaws to subside, for the venom to stop inundating my mouth. I was relieved to find that this time, the instinct was fading faster. Already, I felt a modicum of sanity returning. I took a deep breath of the damp pine-scented air.

Beau turned himself sideways in the seat and then staggered from the Jeep. I wasn't controlled enough to help him in case he fell; I stayed where I was, unsure if it was safe enough yet for me to be close to him.

Some of the muscles in my arms and shoulders loosened.

He took a measured step toward me, his boot crunching rotting leaves and twigs underfoot. It was the only sound in the forest around us. Distantly, over the town, thunder rolled, an ominous sound.

"I truly do think you'll be the death of me, Beau."

He tensed. "What?"

I inhaled deeply once more, tasting his essence in the air around me, but it did not trigger the same reflex, now. I was back on top of the temptation.

Feeling sufficiently comprised, I went to his side. "Let's get out of here before I do something _really_ stupid."

I turned my back on him, appraising him with an impatient expression. I was no longer in the mood for his reservation. Thankfully, he climbed on without so much as a grumble.

"Keep your eyes shut," I reminded him, and then I lurched forward into the deeper woods.

The path was relatively clear and smooth—I didn't need to wind and swerve nearly as much as I had on my way back to the truck yesterday, and I hoped this would bode well for him. We reached the clearing in no time at all.

I came to a stand-still a few yards from the edge of the trees, but Beau didn't move. I reached back to lay a hand on his cheek.

"It's over, Beau."

He let go first with his arms, second with his legs, and the uneven dismount caused him to lose his balance. I turned just in time to see his aghast expression, eyes so wide I could see the whites around the irises, arms flailing wildly, futilely, as he staggered back. The velocity of his disembarkment was too much for his feet to keep up with, however, and he tipped back, landing hard in the mud on his behind.

My irritation abruptly evaporated, and I burst into laughter, unable to stop myself. The subsequent very human action came without thought—I wrapped my arms around my waist, though my wild merriment brought no resulting pain to my abdominal muscles.

Beau rose stiffly, and wacked at the dirt and bracken stuck to the seat of his pants, which made me laugh even harder.

"You know," he noted, "it would probably be more humane for you to just dump me now. It's not going to get any easier for me over time."

I tried to smother my glee without much success.

Beau exhaled heavily, unimpressed, turned on his heel and strode away.

I took a couple more deep breaths, finally reigning in the humor, and I dashed after him, gripping the back of his jacket and tugging him to a stop. When he glanced over his shoulder at me, he was smiling, so I figured I wasn't in too much trouble.

"Where are you going, Beau?"

"Wasn't there a baseball game happening?" Abruptly, he looked confused.

I smirked affectionately. "It's the other way."

He spun. "Okay."

I interlaced my fingers with his, palm-to-palm, and guided him toward the opening to the clearing.

"I'm sorry I laughed," I said after a couple of seconds. Regardless of if he really was angry or not, I felt an apology was warranted.

"I would have laughed at me, too," he assured me.

"No, I was just a little… agitated," I insisted, "I needed the catharsis."

It was quiet for the length of a few of his heartbeats as we meandered forward.

"At least tell me it worked," I prodded. He didn't _look_ sick. "The mind-over-matter experiment." I hoped the enormous gamble hadn't been without reward.

"Well… I didn't get sick," he stated. There was an unfinished note to his voice. He wasn't telling me something.

"Good, but…?" I urged.

His answer came slowly. "I wasn't thinking about… in the car. I was thinking about after."

Shame flooded through me. I'd frightened him—of course I had. How could I not with a lapse in control like that? Castigation wove its way, snake-like, through my mind.

"I know I already apologized, but… sorry. Again," he said. The guilt flared stronger, twisting my insides. "I will learn how to do better. I know—"

I couldn't bear to hear any more of his entirely needless apologies. "Beau, stop," I interceded, "Please, you make me feel even more guilty when you apologize."

I hadn't realized I'd stopped walking until he did.

"Why should _you_ feel guilty?"

I laughed without humor. "Oh, indeed! Why should _I_ feel guilty?" What reason in the world did I have to feel ashamed? For stealing away his chance at a regular, human life. For ensnaring myself so viciously into his heart and mind—unable to garner the strength to stay away—for forcing myself upon him. He had no choice. I had fooled myself, before, by making it seem I'd left it all up to him, when all the while I'd done everything I could to steal his yeses and commitments and conversations and time. Why _indeed_ should I feel guilty?

The warmth of his hand on my cheek pulled me from the inky well of my sarcastic self-flagellation, and I looked up into his piercing eyes, which searched my face anxiously.

"Edythe, I don't understand what you're saying," he murmured.

I clamped my eyes shut, agony ripping through me at the naïve confusion on his face. "I just can't seem to stop putting you in danger," I despaired, "I _think_ I'm in control of myself, and then it gets so close—I don't know how to not be _this_ anymore." I gestured toward myself, never having hated my nature more. "My very existence puts you at risk. Sometimes I truly hate myself. I should be stronger, I should be able to—"

Then his warm, soft and aromatic hand was over my lips, silencing my protestations.

"Stop," he said, his voice a beseeching whisper.

When I opened my eyes now, there was pain in those bright blue eyes—pain for _my_ sake. My cold, dead heart curled in on itself. I didn't deserve this boy, I _truly_ didn't. Very carefully, I moved his hand from my lips, to my cheek, indulging selfishly in the pleasant warmth his skin provided before continuing.

"I love you. It's a poor excuse for what I'm doing, but it's still true."

Beau's breathing stopped for a second, and then came a little faster. "I love _you_ ," he said, "I don't want you to be something other than what you are."

I sighed softly. At least that made one of us. "Now, be a good boy."

I stretched up on my toes and kissed him very lightly on the mouth.

We stood for a moment, just staring at each other.

Finally, I exhaled. My family would be waiting. "Baseball?"

"Baseball," he agreed.

I put my hand back in his, pulling him through some tall ferns, underneath some hanging moss, and around a huge hemlock tree. We had arrived.

The clearing was twice the length of Dodger Stadium, situated in a large, barren stretch of land, where the trees had been clear-cut long before the regulation to re-plant had come into affect.

The size of the clearing allowed us to hit the ball and run freely, with full use of our heightened speed and strength.

Eleanor, Earnest and Royal were gathered on a projection of rough mountain stone across the way, and they rose when they saw us step into the field. Archie and Jessamine were on the other end of the field, tossing the ball back and forth, warming up, while they waited for the game to begin. Carine was marking the bases.

Eager expectation flared in Earnest's thoughts as he started to make his way toward us, but Royal's thoughts were petulant and demeaning. True to his word, however, he didn't so much as growl. He did, however, turn and head over to where Archie and Jessamine were standing. Eleanor hesitated, casting a long look at the retreating figure of her husband.

 _Sorry, Edy,_ she apologized, _I tried talking to him. You know how obstinate he can be._

I nodded quickly, showing her that I wasn't altogether bothered by his rejection. I was just glad he wasn't being outright uncouth. That was all I'd asked for, in any case.

"Was that you we heard before, Edythe?" Earnest called when he was close enough for Beau to hear.

"Sounded like a hyena choking to death," El added good-naturedly.

I grinned. Beau cast his own provisional smile at my sister. "That was her," he confirmed.

"Beau was being funny," I clarified, grinning up at him.

His mouth twisted, just incrementally, and I batted my lashes. He blinked, face slackening.

Carine finished up with marking the bases then, and Archie left Jessamine with her at home plate, to hurtle toward us. He came to an abrupt stop in front of us.

 _Watch this._ He threw me a wink too rapid for Beau to catch.

"It's time," he said. And then, overhead, thunder boomed.

I leered at him sarcastically. "Quit showing off," I muttered under my breath. This, too, Beau would have missed.

Eleanor noticed Beau's off-guard surprise.

"Eerie, isn't it?" She threw in a genial wink, hoping to get on his good side. Uncharacteristically, she felt very guilty about Royal's pomposity. She wasn't usually one to pay others' emotions much mind, but Eleanor was convinced that Beau would be joining the family as one of our kind one day. She wanted Beau to always feel comfortable with her, in the big sister role.

Archie was nearly vibrating with ecstatic impatience, and he reached out for El's hand. "Let's go!" They bounded away, and I watched Beau watch them.

Archie headed toward his place on the pitcher's mound, and El had her eye on the home plate, wanting to be first up to bat.

 _Let's play!_ Archie whined.

 _You comin' or what, Edy?!_ Eleanor beckoned.

Jessamine's thoughts were confident, gamely competitive. She was sure that our side was going to win.

Her thrumming anticipation was infectious, and suddenly, I was excited to get out there.

"Are you ready for some ball?" I turned to Beau, bouncing on my toes, unable to tone down the tenor of my enthusiasm.

"Go team!"

I laughed at his animated encouragement and reached up to tousle his hair quickly. Then I started away, pushing my legs until the wind whipped my hair away from my face, and pushed my clothes against my body. Quickly, I overtook both Archie and El.

 _Hey! It's not a race, you exhibitionist!_ Eleanor protested. _Don't show off just 'cause your_ boyfriend _is here!_

I lifted a hand, gesturing rudely over my shoulder, and she returned the sign with a silent, cheerful slur.

I giggled, the sound high and strident, then took my place in the outfield. This was the position I usually took, as I was so much faster than the others, and could stop an otherwise home-run in its tracks. Carine crouched readily in between first and second, prepared to cover the bases and the infield.

Earnest and Beau were making their way toward us now, engaged in, what I thought to be, casual conversation until I actually tuned into what Earnest was saying.

He was chuckling softly. "Well, I do think of them as my children in most ways," he was confiding, "I never could get over—" He paused, gathering himself. It still broke his heart now, though it had been almost a century. "Did Edythe tell you I lost my daughter?"

"Er, no," Beau said, stunned.

Though I knew each of my family's origin stories in great detail—most gleaned from conversation, some from their thoughts—I didn't think it my place to share those details without their knowledgeable permission.

"Edythe was the first of my new children," Earnest was saying now, drawing my attention with the utterance of my name. "My second daughter. I've always thought of her that way—though she's older than I, in one way at least—and wondered if my Grace would have grown into such an amazing person. I'm so happy she's found you, Beau. She's been the odd woman out for far too long. It's hurt me to see her alone."

"You don't mind, then?" Beau questioned, "That I'm… all wrong for her?"

"No," Earnest said, and his mind was turning through the possibilities once more. He often mused at great length about where our relationship would end up. He hadn't been able to reach any concrete conclusions but one: "You're what she wants. It will all work out, somehow." He didn't quite see how, but he believed in the great power of love.

Thunder grumbled and roared once more, as they reached the edge of the playing field.

Eleanor took a few practice swings with the aluminum bat—much more sturdy than wood, which seemed to shatter more often than it was able to stand up to the crash of the ball.

Jessamine was behind her, filling in as catcher. I watched the exchange between her and Archie, the silent way they seemed to communicate—and I no longer watched it with the same sort of longing I used to.

"All right. Batter up," Earnest called.

Archie's pitching strategy was stealthy. He could throw just as hard as any of us could, and so the speed of the throw wasn't so much an advantage. Secrecy had always worked out better for him, and Jess knew this. They teamed up on El, watching for the holes in her readiness, and when Jess cued him, Archie flicked his wrist almost imperceptibly, and released the ball.

It hurtled through the air, straight and sure. Eleanor swung, but she was a sixteenth of a second too late, and the ball smacked into Jess's waiting hands.

 _Yes!_

 _Dammit!_

"Was that a strike?" I heard Beau whisper.

"If they don't hit it, it's a strike," Earnest said. Eleanor heard this, too, and she reprimanded herself.

 _Gotta get my head in the game! Focus!_

Eleanor was easily the most competitive out of all of us—and definitely the sorest loser. If she lost a game, she was sure to demand a rematch without much refraction.

Fired up now, Eleanor caught the second pitch hard, rending a dent in the side of the bat. The ball soared overhead, but I heard it more than I saw it, because I'd turned my back and was racing through the trees, leaping over fallen logs, skidding under low-hanging branches, vying to stay ahead of the ball.

"Home run," I heard Beau mutter to Earnest in the distance.

Not if I could help it.

I heard the instant the ball faltered in speed, and I took my leap, soaring straight up into the air, high enough to just peek over the tallest firs, and the ball smacked into my palm with an ear-splitting _crack_.

"Out!" Earnest called when he heard the contact.

I sprang back into the field, ball hoisted high in victory over my head, a wide grin stretched across my face. I had always loved our Sunday baseball games, but I found even more pleasure with Beau watching.

"Eleanor hits the hardest, but Edythe runs the fastest."

Speaking of Eleanor… She was running through all the insulting litanies she knew inside of her head, all of them directed at me.

As far as baseball games went, this particular evening, nothing of notice occurred. It was a pretty dull game, actually. Hardly any outstanding plays, and not one accident—aside from the time both El and I leaped for the ball and collided in mid-air. She liked that, and was sure to ruffle my hair upon landing. I threw her another bald-faced hand gesture.

I couldn't help it—my inhibitions tended to subordinate when I got riled up.

It was anyone's game by the time we reached the fifth inning. Most of the game had passed in its usual fashion—full of amicable razzing and teasing. Just another night out with the Cullens.

Except that, in an instant, the mellow, enjoyable evening rolled over on its back and died.

Archie drew a sharp breath when the vision hit him, and automatically, my eyes snapped up to his. Our gazes locked as the warning passed through both of our minds, and we watched it together, horrified.

Three nomads, the ones Archie had seen yesterday morning, were just miles away. They had heard our raucous playing, and, curious, had discoursed from their original trail, and were heading toward the field now. Two females, one male. They exchanged a few short words about us, but nothing of great disrepute.

Each pair of deep crimson eyes—freshly sated with human blood—was acutely focused. It would be instinctive reflex for them to hunt Beau. They would not think twice, especially when it came to his desirable scent.

As soon as the vision faded, I lurched to Beau's side, frantic with terror.

"What the _hell_ ," I hissed under my breath at Archie, the metallic edge of hysteria in my tone, "Why did their course change? I thought they were headed north! What _happened_?"

"Archie?" Earnest asked. His voice was tight with anxiety, and his thoughts were racing.

"I didn't see," Archie said to me, his tone deeply apologetic. He was putting the blame on himself—as he should; he should have been watching closer. I was furious. "I couldn't tell."

Eleanor, as usual, was driven mad by the half-finished sentences and our strange, stilted conversation.

 _What the hell is going on?!_

Everyone was gathered around now, concerned eyes on Archie's face, flickering from him to me and Beau every so often.

"What is it, Archie?" Carine commanded. She was very calm, but I could hear the concern in her thoughts.

 _Is my family at risk?_ she wondered, and Beau was included in the whole. She had not made a distinction in the split-second wondering.

"They were traveling much quicker than I thought," Archie explained, "I can see I had the perspective wrong before." _I'm sorry, Edythe. I'm so sorry._

I jerked my head back and forth, realizing my teeth were locked together like vises. It didn't matter now. I knew he would do what was right—he would do what it took to protect Beau. We _all_ would.

Anguish rocked through me, stabbing through me with ferocious vehemence. What had I done? Oh, god, what had I _done_?

Jessamine gripped Archie's hand. "What changed?" she asked. She knew which questions to ask; she knew how to get as much out of Archie's visions as she could, maybe more than the rest of us.

"They heard us playing," Archie said, "and it changed their path." _So sorry, so sorry, so sorry._ He was mentally reprimanding himself for not having kept a closer eye, for not noticing sooner, for putting Beau at risk. But my anger at him was quickly fading. Instead, the target of my fury was turning inward.

My parents' and siblings' eyes flashed to Beau's face, and then away. Immediately, all of them were contemplative.

Most of them were wondering how best to keep Beau safe. One family member's thoughts were slightly too enthusiastic about the coming opposition. Another's was so infuriated, the racing thoughts bordered on maniacal madness.

"How soon?" Carine inquired.

Archie concentrated, and I watched with him, through the flashing foliage, to the traveling nomads. Together, we watched the topography around them, searching for hallmark clues.

"Less than five minutes," Archie said decidedly, "They're running—they want to play."

 _Edythe, you must get Beau to safety. Leave the Jeep if it will be faster._ "Can you make it?" she asked out loud, gaze flitting to Beau's face.

"No, not carrying—" I cut myself short, the anguished fury clenching my jaw together with such vigor it was like it had been glued shut with cement. "Besides, the last thing we need is for them to catch the scent and start hunting."

I didn't know which kind of extra capabilities the group possessed, and I ran through different options in my mind. Fleeing was out of the question. A fight, though Eleanor hoped for it, was pretty far down on the list, as well. Carine wouldn't want to resort to that unless it was absolutely unavoidable. Most likely, our options would either be to reason with the nomads—there was no way of telling how well that would go—or deceiving the trio, which would be difficult to do.

Confirming my suspicions, Carine was running through the same thoughts in her head.

 _If running won't work, neither will hiding. We will have to attempt at a level-headed discussion. Hopefully we can reason with them before they catch his scent… If it comes to a showdown, I suppose it is what must happen—but I don't want to do that unless all other options have been eradicated._

Eleanor turned her eyes on Archie. "How many?" She was prepared to take a stance for the boy she already considered her youngest brother. Besides, she was always looking for an excuse to fight.

I gritted my teeth together. I appreciated the sentiment, but Eleanor tended to think with everything _but_ her head. A fight would put Beau at a certain amount of risk.

"Three," Archie said now.

Eleanor's thoughts were abruptly giddy. "Three!" she ridiculed, "Let them come." _They call that a threat? I could probably take them all down by myself—_ with _a hand tied behind my back!_

Carine deliberated a moment more, deciding deception was her best alternative at this point in time.

"Let's just continue the game," she finally suggested. "Archie said they were simply curious." She was, of course, hoping for the best possible outcome, but Carine was not naïve enough to believe the coming confrontation did not pose serious peril for the boy by my side.

"Edythe, are they thirsty?" Earnest wanted to know. His eyes were fixed intently on my face, and if I had not been so wrought with tension, I would have felt a certain measure of tenderness toward him for the way he thought of Beau now, as part of the family, one of his sons. His mind was very-nearly wild with paternal instinct and concern. Earnest was not a fighter, but in this very moment, he was prepared to make a stand for the object of my affection.

I remembered the brightness of cerise in the nomads' eyes, and I shook my head at him. No, they were not thirsty. Yes, they had been freshly fed. But that would not stop the lure of Beau's fragrance—especially if they were undisciplined and unrestrained , as nomads tended to be.

"You catch, Earnest," I said to him now, unwilling to leave Beau's side, "I'll call it now."

My family members returned to the field.

"The others are coming now." Beau's voice quaked in my ear.

"Yes," I said, "Stay very still, keep quiet, and don't move from my side, please." I kept my voice as smooth and pacifying as I could, not wanting to frighten him more than he was due.

I hoped that his stillness would be enough. I was grateful that the nomads would be upwind from us, and if Beau stood unmoving, there was a possibility they would miss his scent completely.

"That won't help. I could smell him across the field," Archie muttered, dismayed. He was not typically one to hold his misdemeanors against himself, but he cared deeply for Beau—as a friend, and an eventual brother, which I winced at.

"I know," I barked at him.

"What did Earnest ask you?" Beau breathed now.

 _Damn_ his perceptiveness. I hesitated for just a moment, but I could not keep this from him. "Whether they were thirsty," I enlightened him darkly.

Beau's face lost just some of its color, and I wanted to reach out to him, to take his hand and squeeze it in reassurance, but my muscles were rigid with tension.

 _It's going to be alright,_ I tried to sooth myself. _The threat is not as dangerous as it seems._ Seven on three was nothing. It would be easy, depending on what talents they possessed, but mine and Archie's gifts would be of much use. If all other alternatives were exhausted, we would fight. With Archie's precognition and my mind-reading, it was possible we could take them out quickly. And I hadn't even included Jessamine in that factor, who was the most skilled and practiced fighter among us, having been a soldier in her former life. Notwithstanding her influential powers of emotional control. She would attempt this gift first, and I knew it would weigh things in our favor.

 _See?_ I placated myself, _It's going to be fine._

But the deeper part of my psyche didn't believe it. I barely perceived the game happening in front of me, although I was _supposed_ to be refereeing. My attentions were focused on the three vampires making their way toward us.

Lauren—the olive-skinned nomad. Her thoughts, flowed eloquently in francais, and they were flexible, open-minded, curious and opportunistic. I would barter most of my hope on her, if there was any hope in convincing them.

The other two, I was not sure about. The red-haired male governed mostly with his instincts. His humanity was buried deep beneath the dispositions of his vampiric nature. He was more animal than human compared to the other two. His thoughts were jumpy and frenetic—it was hard to focus on their manic behavior for long.

The other female, smaller than the first, plain looking with dull brown hair chopped to her shoulders, was more calculating, and I could hear the snide derision in her thoughts. Of the three, she seemed the most malicious, and this was the one I worried about most. The patterns of her thoughts seemed very familiar in an odd way, but I couldn't place the comparison.

"I'm sorry, Beau," I said now, "It was stupid, irresponsible, to expose you like this. I'm so sorry."

Our visitors' thoughts grew expectant, senses pricking, and my head whipped toward right field, where I and each member of my family, could now hear the stealth gait of their passage, barely making a whisper against the bracken on the forest floor.

The red-haired male moved nearly soundlessly, and as they came nearer, I could tell I'd been right about him—he was more savage than any vampire I'd ever known, and I wondered if I'd misplaced the priority of my concern.

But then I heard _her_ thoughts more clearly, and knew that I had been correct to place my attentions there.

I shifted incrementally, so that I was firmly between Beau and the imminent opposition.

…

 **A/N:** Dun dun dun! Leave a review and let me know what you thought of this chapter :) I had fun writing this one. xo


	18. Battle Lines

**A/N:** Hello to a few lovely new readers! I'm so glad you've joined us!

I have worked very very hard on these next few chapters, so I hope you enjoy! Also, I'm taking a poll (of sorts, not very accurately at all xD) Would you guys prefer I did the original Twilight ending before I continue on to New Moon through Edythe's eyes, or would you prefer if I did both the original L&D ending, as well as an _alternate/_ original Twilight ending before I continue on? Let me know in a review or PM!

As of right now, I've got about half the original Life and Death ending drafted out; I'm just waiting on reader opinions.

Anyway, here's the next one, lovelies. Sorry for leaving you with a cliffhanger at the end of the last one ;)

Song of Inspiration: "I Know Places" by Taylor Swift

…

It was immediately clear to me that Joss was far more cunning and malevolent than I'd formerly assumed.

Their passage was whisper light as each of them stepped into the clearing, about ten feet apart from each other. As soon as she stepped through the ferns fringing the field, she fell back, allowing Lauren to take feigned position as the leader of the coven.

I could read that this was a typical defense strategy for Joss—she liked to insure there was no threat before she belied her true colors. It was a deceitful tactic, and my trust for the plain-haired small vampire was immediately nonexistent.

Lightly, they closed their ranks as they approached our group, their thoughts wary and cautious. They weren't sure what to make of such a large grouping—it was very unusual for them to see so many vampires in one coven, having been used to mostly couples and trios.

Carine, intent on keeping the grouping as far from Beau as possible, stepped forward, Jess and El immediately gravitating to her flanks, to meet them. Carine's thoughts were not altogether unfriendly, but she was cautious. She often gave our kind the benefit of the doubt, extended her trust until they proved undeserving.

 _The eyes,_ Lauren thought as Carine approached, _So strange. Do they not hunt in the conventional way? And why so many?_ Coherent thought warred in her mind with defensive instinct, but she was self-possessed enough to straighten out of her crouch. Her companions copied her actions, though the redhead, Victor, felt very uncomfortable in doing so.

He was extremely threatened by our family, more than the other two, and his hands curled into distrustful claws at his sides. He was prepared to take defensive action without a second thought, if he saw fit. Curiously, his thoughts flickered with both a territorial and protective trace toward Joss, and the mated nature of their relationship was revealed to me.

Lauren smiled now, in an open and benevolent way, though it was largely a mask. The other part of it was the soothing, friendly atmosphere Jessamine was exuding. Lauren took an easy step toward Carine, thanks to Jess.

"We thought we heard a game," she said. "I'm Lauren, these are Victor and Joss."

"I'm Carine," she replied, keeping her tone amicable, "This is my family, Eleanor and Jessamine, Royal, Earnest and Archie, Edythe and Beau." She identified us in groupings on purpose, so as not to draw attention to anyone in particular.

"Do you have room for a few more players?" Lauren inquired. She was easily the most human-like of the three. Unconscious hand-gestures—which were not unconscious at all—seemed to come easier to her. Victor kept his relaxed posture with some amount of effort, constantly fighting the urge to sink back into his crouch. He felt safer in that position, and longed for its familiarity.

"Actually," Carine was saying now, "we were just finishing up. But we'd certainly be interested another time. Are you planning to stay in the area for long?" Her question came off as casually conversational, but of course, the inquiry was more pointed than mere curiosity.

"We're headed north, in fact," Lauren replied, "but we were curious to see who was in the neighborhood. We haven't run into any company in a long time."

This was obvious, that the group had been long-removed from civilization. I would have assumed so just by their savage mannerisms, but it was made apparent, also, by their casual apparel, and lack of footwear. Both of the women's' tresses were tangled through with twigs and leaves, and their skin was dusted over with dirt and crusted-on blood lingered at the corners of their lips. Dry, it looked just like mud, but the scent gave it away. My throat stung dimly, but there were more important things to focus on, now.

"No, this region is usually empty except for us and the occasional visitor, like yourselves," Carine said.

"What's your hunting range?" Lauren kept her queries non-assuming, but she was very curious about the color of our eyes. She would have liked to ask her question outright, but she wondered if she would offend.

"The Olympic Range here, up and down the Coast Ranges on occasion," Carine replied, disregarding the assumption. "We keep a permanent residence nearby. There's another permanent settlement like ours up near Denali."

Shock registered in Lauren's mind, and she leaned back on her heels, stunned, but more curious than I would have assumed. The longer I concentrated on her mind, the more I could see that Lauren retained far more humanity than either of the others. She was not only fascinated by our residency, but she was mildly interested in it, as well.

"Permanent?" she repeated. "How do you manage that?"

"Why don't you come back to our home with us and we can talk comfortably?" Carine suggested. "It's a rather long story." Her invitation caught the nomads by surprise, more by the use of the word _home_ than anything else.

"That sounds very interesting, and welcome," Lauren agreed, and smiled genially. "We've been on the hunt all the way down from Ontario, and we haven't had the chance to clean up in a while." Her eyes roved over Carine's outfit appreciatively, wondering if she could swipe a few of her things without Carine's notice.

"Please don't take offense, but we'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from hunting in this immediate area," Carine continued on, "We have to stay inconspicuous, you understand."

"Of course. We certainly won't encroach on your territory. We just ate outside of Seattle, anyway." She laughed, and an image of her latest victim filled her mind. I tensed.

"We'll show you the way if you'd like to run with us," Carine invited, "Eleanor and Archie, you can go with Edythe and Beau to get the Jeep."

 _Get Beau to safety. We'll keep our visitors at the house until we hear from you._

I nodded curtly in response, and was just about to turn away, when the direction of the wind shifted and ruffled Beau's hair. His scent burst into the clearing, carrying on the wind toward the unfamiliar coven, and my muscles locked up in preparation for the ramification.

 _Ohh! Such sweet, succulent lusciousness!_ Joss's head whipped around, nostrils flaring as she breathed in Beau's scent and appraised him with rapt, unswerving attentiveness. It was then that I saw her true disposition, the effective pattern her mind fell into, as she lurched into an aggressive attack crouch.

My reaction was entirely based on instinct. I responded to her stature with a defensive position of my own; a vicious snarl ripped up my throat and through my clenched teeth.

"What's this?" Lauren's face was blank with shock.

Joss acted purely on reflex now—she was intent on winning her prize, and she lurched to the left. But of course, I read her movement before it had been made, and was already there to block her.

"He's with us," Carine said to Joss. Her voice was icy and authoritative. It was a command.

The notes of Beau's fragrance drifted onward to Lauren and Victor in the next moment, and they registered it.

 _Oh! Such a delectable fragrance._ Beau was, of course, desirable to Lauren, but Joss's reaction was stronger than either Lauren's or Victor's had been. Neither of them dared to contest her, their true leader. They hung back, recognizing that Joss had staked her claim.

"You brought a snack?" Lauren said, taking a small, unthinking step forward.

I warned her off, snarling viciously. Lauren processed my challenge loud and clear, and retreated immediately.

"I said he's with us."

"But he's _human_ ," Lauren protested to Carine. She could not fathom why or how Beau was here with us. Her assumptions were insulting—that we were keeping Beau as some sort of pet. She could see no possibility beyond that, and was stumped by my territorial actions.

 _I don't understand… She can't be… Why is he… It doesn't…_

Her thoughts fractured in a million different places, her distractions copious.

Joss, however, was intently focused on one conquest, and one conquest only. I knew now, what I had recognized in the configuration of her thoughts. Joss was a tracker, and it was quickly becoming apparent that her aspiration grew in direct correlation to my defensive measures.

Abruptly, a part of my consciousness was standing at the end of the second-story hallway with Beau, the day before.

" _I often wonder about that moment. If he hadn't revealed what he loved most, would all our stories have changed?"_

I had made a grave mistake in defending Beau. Joss didn't like to be challenged, and my interception had made this her most exciting game yet.

"Yes," Carine said now in answer to Lauren's confusion.

Eleanor and Jessamine had formed an unrelenting wall of defense on either side of our mother. Though Carine and Lauren remained somewhat neutral, Jess and El were ready to take a stand. Eleanor was intent on sticking by my side, and was sizing Joss up.

 _Just a teeny little thing,_ she sneered, _I could snap her in half_ easily! Eleanor was not intimidated.

Jessamine had her eyes fixed on Victor, the redhead who had kept in the background, but had responded, unconsciously, in a defensive crouch of his own. Jessamine recognized the skittish light in his eyes. He reminded her of many of the newborns she'd both trained and fought during her earliest days as a vampire. Her instincts told her he was a bigger threat than any of us had assumed.

But I could not focus on that, now. My full attentions were on the slim vampire in front of me. We were about the same height, and she didn't appear to be of much more mass than I was. At any rate, I was both faster than she was, _and_ I could predict her moves. I thought she didn't stand a chance.

She recognized this—that she would not get what she wanted tonight. Her ghoulish gaze stayed fixed on Beau as slowly, she backed down, pulling herself with no small amount of effort into an erect position.

 _She's won this round,_ she thought viciously, _But I_ will _get what I want. No one can stop me once I set my sights on a prize. And this prize… Mmm…_ She took a moment to inhale the swirling notes of his fragrance. _Yes, this is worth a fight, no matter how many rounds I must go to get him. He_ will _be mine._ She catalogued his scent in her mind, and suddenly, the entire axis of her universe shifted; her complete being revolved around it. There was nothing but the yearning for Beau's blood in her psyche, and the thought made me see red.

She was not aware I could read her thoughts. She was not aware of the lengths I would go to prevent her advances on my Beau. She _greatly_ underestimated me, and that would be her fatal error.

I vowed, then and there, that I would be the one to tear her maniacal head from her narrow shoulders. _I_ would be the one to destroy her—and as I held her by the hair and she realized there was nowhere else to go, I would make sure she knew how grave a miscalculation she had made. I would look into her crazed, soulless eyes, and I would watch the life drain from them. She would _not_ touch Beau. I would not allow it.

"It appears we have a lot to learn about each other," Lauren said now, her tone placating as she attempted to downplay Joss's feral reaction.

"Indeed," Carine responded.

"But we'd like to accept your invitation. And, of course, we will not harm the human boy. We won't hunt in your range, as I said."

The shocked betrayal was clear on Joss's face—I wouldn't have had to read her thoughts to see that the faux-leader's promise would have no foundation. Joss and Victor exchanged a glance, and their thoughts were shockingly in sync. They were determined to see Joss's goal through.

Carine did not see Joss and Victor's duplicity. She measured the sincerity in Lauren's expression, and decided to take her word at its face value. "We'll show you the way. Jess, Royal, Earnest?"

They gathered, blocking Joss's view of Beau, which drove her mad.

 _Get him out of here,_ Carine commanded silently, _I'll talk to you soon. Good luck._

 _Be careful, Edythe,_ Earnest added.

Eleanor did not take her gaze off of Joss as she backed toward Archie, Beau and me. She was not entirely comfortable with leaving Royal alone, but knew that she was needed more here. She would do as she'd been asked.

"Let's move, Beau." I gripped his elbow, pivoted our bodies and half-jogged toward the cover of the trees as quickly as Beau's feet would allow. Eleanor and Archie took up rank behind us, their ears finely tuned for any sound of pursuit. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to turn our back on the enemy, but we had to come off as non-threatening now, for Beau's sake.

 _She's smart, Edy,_ Archie warned, his mental tone bleak as we strode across the clearing, _Real smart, and she's_ fast. _The fastest in the group._

"I'm faster," I snapped in response to his concerns.

When we were past the ferns, I pulled Beau's arm across my shoulders without breaking stride, and pulled him onto my back. And then we were off. I pushed myself as fast as I could go, trying to channel some of the anguished rage into my pace, but only one thing could quench the fire inside of me now.

This was hell. I was in hell. There was no other way to see it. This torment was worse than the cessation of existence. I could not allow my mind to go to the places my thoughts wanted to pursue, but it went anyway, snaking down dark, demonic lanes—imagining the worst of the worst.

The self-loathing was insurmountable. It was _my_ fault, _mine_ , that Beau was in danger. There would be no stopping Joss's assault—not until she was dead. That, or… But I could not bring myself to think of the alternative.

Among our species, there were many gifts at large. One of the more dangerous ones—for humans and vampires alike—was that of a tracker. I cursed myself relentlessly for not having noticed it earlier. Tracking was more important than usual to Joss—it was more than a mere talent, or skill. Tracking was her passion, her obsession, her entire self-definition. She was nothing outside her skill. Her mate-hood with Victor did not touch the passion of her gift. I had not known, anywhere, of a passion stronger than the bond between two mated vampires, until now.

When we reached the Jeep, I rotated and deposited Beau into the backseat before launching myself behind the wheel.

"Strap him in," I commanded El as I twisted the key in the ignition. Archie was in the passenger seat beside me, and I peeled out, kicking up mud as I swerved around and raced down the winding road.

A constant stream of expletives issued from between my lips. I cursed the tracker in all the ways I knew how. I cursed her to the deepest levels of hell, and then some.

When we reached the main road, I accelerated away from Forks, wild with the need to get Beau to safety. I didn't know where I was headed, or where we would end up, but all I could process was that we had to get _away_.

I headed South on the 101, and did not look back.

Distance would not separate us from Joss. She would spend the rest of Beau's life tracking him, if we let her get away. She would not mind waiting, not in the least. She would bide her time. It would be easy for her, to find Beau now that she had his trail memorized.

Nothing would stop her. She would not cease until she had her victory, or her body was shredded and burned. I was set on making that happen as soon as vitally possible.

"Where are we going?"

I ignored Beau's question. Partially because I didn't actually _know_ where I was taking him, but mostly because the rage had shut my vocal chords down.

"Is anyone going to tell me what's happening?" His voice turned capricious, shaking with trepidation, and I had to answer him, then.

"We have to get you away from here," I spat, "Far away—now." I was unwilling to explain the details of the situation—that he had become an unwavering, walking target. That the target would not be removed until either she or he was dead.

"What?" he croaked, "But I have to go home."

"You can't go home, Beau." There was no substitute, no choice in the matter, now.

"I don't understand," he said. His voice sounded broken and disconcerted, and for the first time since I'd met him, his bewilderment was _not_ endearing. Instead, it broke my heart. "Edythe? What do you mean?"

"Pull over, Edythe." Archie was irritatingly, remarkably calm.

I could not focus on the images he was attempting to show me. None of it meant anything now. I could trust nothing and no one. The only one sure thing I knew was this: _I had to get Beau away from Forks_.

I shot him one hard look and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

"Edythe, look at all the different ways this can go." He flipped through the dozens of possibilities for me, but I wasn't watching, not really. "We need to think this through."

I blinked away the percentage of scenarios where Beau wound up dead, either due to distraction on my part, or an unthinking mistake on one of the others'.

"You don't understand!" I wailed, "She's a tracker, Archie! Did you _see_ that? She's a tracker!" How could he not see that stopping now was asinine?

This didn't seem to mean much to Archie, but I felt the tenor of El's mental atmosphere tense.

She cursed in her head.

"Pull over, Edythe," Archie repeated. His voice was steely, determined, but I wasn't listening. I would not let him override me.

"Do it!"

"Archie—listen!" I moaned. "I saw her mind." I had to convince him, I had to make him see that this was the only option. He didn't understand the severity of Joss's mind; he didn't understand her all-consuming dedication to her trade. "Tracking is her passion, her obsession—and she wants him, Archie— _him_ , specifically. She's already begun."

"She doesn't know where—"

I interrupted his unfinished sentence. "How long do you think it will take her to cross Beau's scent in town?" I demanded sharply. "Her plan was already set before the words were out of Lauren's mouth."

"Charlie," Beau gasped, nearly inaudibly, from the backseat. It was like the realization had hit him in the gut. And then louder, shouting, "Charlie! We have to go back. We have to get Charlie!"

 _I don't_ care _about Charlie!_ I wanted to shout. He would never forgive me if I spoke those words aloud, but it was true. I didn't care about anyone _except_ Beau now. He was my utmost first priority. Everything else came second. Including his family. Including _myself_.

I heard his hands fumbling against the harness's buckles, and then El's fingers restrained him.

 _I've got him, Edy._

"Edythe!" he yelled, "Turn around!"

I had never seen such toilsome anxiety from Beau before now. I knew how much he cared for his father, and his father for him, but I could not take the risk. Nothing else mattered more than getting Beau out of town, now. Nothing.

And then… "He's right."

For the first time, Archie's precognition hit me: Charlie—sprawled on the living room floor in front of the TV, eyes staring blank and wide, throat torn and shredded. The pain of it was so acute that my footing faltered, and the Jeep slowed incrementally. Beau would never forgive me if I were responsible for his father's death.

"Let's just look at our options for a minute," Archie cajoled, knowing he was winning.

The odds were in his favor. As soon as I'd faltered in my resolve, the likelihood of Beau's survival rose several percentages.

Dammit. _Dammit_!

I stomped on the brake, skidding to a stop on the interstate shoulder.

"There are no options." My voice was pure fire.

"We're not leaving Charlie!" Beau howled in the backseat.

I didn't answer him.

"We have to take him back." Eleanor's voice was quiet, but confident.

"No," I snapped.

"She's no match for us, Edy," she pushed, "She won't be able to touch him." There was not a hint of doubt in her mind. She was imagining it, picturing how effortless a victory it would be.

"She'll wait," I snarled.

"I can wait, too."

I was losing ground, swiftly and surely. "You didn't _see_!" I cried, "You don't _understand_! Once she commits to a hunt, she's unshakable. We can't reason with her. We can't scare her off. We'd have to kill her."

"Yes," Eleanor said, unaffected. She had no trouble with this inevitability.

"And the male," I continued, "He's with her. If it turns into a fight, Lauren will side with them, too." I could only assume as much.

"There are enough of us."

"There's another option," Archie murmured, and unbidden, Beau's countenance floated into my mind—a vision of his face, hard as marble, unmovable as steel, thirsty, blood-red eyes glinting savagely.

I twisted in my seat to growl unrestrainedly at my brother. This image was the last thing I wanted to think about right now. No. _No way in hell!_ "There—is—no—other—option!"

 _It's the only thing that makes sense anymore. It's the clearest image out of everything, Edy. I saw it. You and I_ both _saw it. He would be safe. She wouldn't be able to touch him. You know it. You_ know _this is a feasible option!_

"Does anyone want to hear my idea?" Beau broke in, calmer now.

" _No_."

Archie glared at me. _Quit being a stubborn hard ass._

"Listen. You take me back—"

" _No_!" I barked immediately.

"Yes!" he argued, "You take me back. I tell my dad I want to go home to Phoenix. I pack my bags. We wait till this tracker is watching, and _then_ we run. She'll follow us and leave Charlie alone. Then you can take me any damned place you want."

The plan solidified in Archie's mind as Beau spoke the words. Even I could not deny that it was the best plan yet. The three of us sat in stunned silence. Even without the benefit of mind-reading or psychic-ism, Eleanor could see that the plan was foolproof.

"It's not a bad idea, really," Eleanor said.

"It might work," Archie predicted, "And we can't just leave his father unprotected. You know that, Edythe."

He showed me the image of Beau's lifeless father once more. It was crystal clear, and I flinched. It would destroy Beau if his father died. I knew that.

They all waited for my response.

"It's too dangerous," I decided. I could not wager this on Archie's 'it _might_ work'. "I don't want her within a hundred miles of Beau."

"She's not getting through us," El promised. She could not imagine losing, but I could, and the stakes were just too high to take that risk.

Archie shut his eyes, and I watched the images flicker through, too brief and unfocused for me to see clearly. He was shuffling through all of the possibilities, searching for something in particular. "I don't see her attacking," he finally said, "She's the kind that goes around, not through. She'll wait for us to leave him unprotected."

"It won't take long for her to realize that's not going to happen," I muttered fiercely.

"I _have_ to go home, Edythe," Beau insisted.

I closed my eyes for a long, anguished moment, pushing my fingers into my temples. Their allied opinions were like the crash of cymbals, and it caused me physical pain. I felt raw, like all my skin had been peeled off. I opened my eyes and glared at him.

"Your plan takes too long. We've got no time for the packing charade."

"If I don't give him some kind excuse, he'll make trouble for your family. Maybe call the FBI or something if he thinks you've… I don't know, kidnapped me."

I was shaking my head fervently before he was through. "That doesn't matter." We would deal with that dilemma when it came.

"Yes," he contended, "It does. There's a way to keep everyone safe, and that's what we're going to do."

And suddenly, my resolve lay in shreds at my feet. I was exhausted, and their words were wearing on me. Their plans bested mine, which were still non-existent.

I restarted the ignition, and spun the Jeep around. We accelerated back toward town, burning rubber.

"You're leaving tonight. Whether the tracker sees or not. Tell Charlie whatever you want—as long as it's quick. Pack the first things your hands touch, then get in your truck. I don't care what Charlie says. You have fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes from the time you cross the doorstep, or I carry you out."

I took Beau's non-response as agreement.

"Eleanor?" he said.

"Oh, sorry," she said, and released his wrists.

"This is how it's going to happen. When we get to the house, if the tracker is not there, I will walk Beau to the door. Then he has fifteen minutes." I caught his eyes in the rearview, making sure he was aware of the guidelines. "Eleanor, you take the outside of the house. Archie, you get the truck. I'll be inside as long as he is. After he's out, you two can take the Jeep home and tell Carine."

"No way, I'm with you," Eleanor interjected.

"Think it through, El," I argued, "I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Until we know how far this is going to go, I'm with you," she insisted.

I sighed, knowing fighting her loyalty was pointless. It was difficult to contest that kind of commitment from someone who loved you as much as my big sister loved me. "If the tracker _is_ there," I continued, refocusing on the strategy, "we keep driving."

Beau may never forgive me if I allowed his father to be killed, but I would sacrifice Chief Swan in a minute if it meant it would save Beau's life. I didn't care if that made me a horrible person. I didn't care if Beau hated me for the rest of his life—at least he would _have_ one.

"We're going to make it there before her," Archie said. He was sure of this. The image in his mind was rock solid—his view from the forest, raised voices and frantic footsteps from inside the house. The tracker was nowhere within eyesight or earshot. "What are we going to do with the Jeep?"

I could see already that this was going to be an argument. "You're driving it home."

"No, I'm not."

I wove some creative slurs and insults around Archie's name.

"We can't all fit in my truck," Beau argued quietly.

I ignored that, wondering why no one would listen to me.

"I think you should let me go alone." I couldn't ignore this insanity.

"Beau, don't be stupid," I snapped. I didn't want to unlock my teeth, for fear that I would honestly and truly lose it.

"Listen, Charlie's not an imbecile. If you're not in town tomorrow, he's going to get suspicious."

"That's irrelevant," I dissented, "We'll make sure he's safe, and that's all that matters."

"Then what about this tracker?" Beau pushed, "She saw how you acted tonight. She's going to think you're with me, wherever you are."

 _Dammit!_

"Edythe, listen to him," Eleanor enthused, impressed. "I think he's right."

"He is," Archie confirmed. He could see the trouble this would cause. _You have to let him go._ He showed me how the odds weighed in his favor if I stayed. The borders around the images were blurry and shaky—there were too many undecided factors, but even this was better than the outcomes of us staying together. _You have to stay._

"I can't do that," I argued.

"Eleanor should stay, too. She definitely got an eyeful of Eleanor," Beau added.

"What?" Eleanor was offended, thinking Beau didn't want her with him, but she misunderstood.

"You'll get a better crack at her if you stay," Archie pacified her.

I was taken aback by Archie's agreement. "You think I should let him go _alone_?"

"Of course not." And suddenly, the answer was clear. I could see it, how the plan would unfold. I could see how I would have to let Beau go. Every fiber inside me, every cell, rebelled against it. It was a palpable, physical response, an odd sucking vortex of recoil. "Jess and I will take him."

"I can't do that," I repeated, but even as I said the words, I knew the plan would take hold. I could see the logic it presented; I saw how the borders of the image solidified.

Beau piped up. "Hang out here for a week"—my face crumpled at the idea, and he rescinded his words—"a few days. Let Charlie see you, and lead this hunter on a wild-goose chase. Make sure she's completely off the trail. Then come and meet me. Take a roundabout route, of course, and then Jessamine and Archie can go home."

I considered that. "Meet you where?"

"Phoenix," he said.

"No," I argued, exasperated, "She'll hear that's where you're going."

"And you'll make it look like that's a trick, obviously," Beau urged. "She'll know that _you'll_ know that she's listening. She'll never believe I'm actually going where I say I am going."

"He's diabolical!" Eleanor crowed laughingly.

"And if that doesn't work?" I quarreled.

"There are several million people in Phoenix."

I would not be so easily placated. "It's not that hard to find a phone book," I pointed out.

"It's called a hotel, Edythe." He said the words like I should have thought of them, that it would have been obvious.

"Edythe, we'll be with him," Archie joined in.

"What are _you_ going to do in _Phoenix_?" I could only see how well _that_ would work out.

"Stay indoors." _Duh._

"I kind of like it," El inserted.

"Shut up, El."

"Look, if we try to take her down while Beau's still around, there's a much better chance that someone will get hurt." She was pretty proud of herself, knowing she was right. "He'll get hurt, or you will, trying to protect him. Now, if we get her alone…" She trailed off, grinning.

We drifted into town limits, and I slowed, giving myself time to think.

There was a lot—too much—in the balance regarding Beau's plan. Whether we were able to carry it out without flaw, whether Joss acted predictably, whether Charlie let Beau go… I didn't like it—any of it. I didn't like leaving Beau vulnerable. I didn't like the thought of being separated from him, most of all. But it was the only plan we had.

"Beau," I said softly. Archie and Eleanor stared out their windows, giving us what passed as privacy in the Cullen house—averted eyes and selective hearing. "If you let anything happen to yourself—anything at all—I'm holding you personally responsible. Do you understand that, Beau?"

I locked eyes with him in the rearview. His irises blazed with fierce determination.

"Ditto, Edythe," he said.

I turned to Archie. "Can Jessamine handle this?" I demanded.

"Give her some credit, Edythe. She's been doing very, very well, all things considered."

"Can _you_ handle this?"

I didn't quite feel comfortable trusting Archie alone with Beau when he disagreed so vehemently on the best course of action regarding his safety.

Archie let loose a fierce snarl. _Don't underestimate me. I've got this._

I smiled at him, and then added, "But keep your opinions to yourself."

 _Sure thing._

…

 **A/N:** And there we are!

As always, please let me know what you thought, and also, let me know how you'd like the ending to go! It's important that I please my readers as well as stay true to canon, so I'd love your input! See you next time! xo


	19. Goodbyes

**A/N:** Thank you for all of your opinions on the last chapter! I was really surprised by how many answers I received! So I appreciate that. I think the plan is that I will do the original L&D ending with a Twilight alternative ending and epilogue. I won't do L&D's epilogue if that's fine with everyone else, because there really isn't a point in doing it if I'm going to pursue the Twilight series through Edythe's eyes, right? I think so, at least…

…

The porch light was on when we pulled up in front of the Swan residence.

The forest bordering the east side of the property was still and silent in the night. For now, we were alone.

"She's not here. Let's go."

Eleanor leaned over to undo the clasps on Beau's harness. "Don't worry, Beau," she said cheerfully, "We'll take care of things here quickly." Once he was free from the straps, I ordered El and Archie into the forest.

They retreated easily, without so much as a hesitant thought.

 _It's going to work,_ Archie assured me as he melted into the shadows.

Then it was just me and Beau, standing in the street. In the lamp's glow, he looked paler than usual. But his expression was focused, the steely tinge of determination in his eyes.

"Fifteen minutes," I reminded him.

He nodded in assent, took a few steps up the walkway, and paused.

"Hurry, Beau," I urged, wondering what his hesitation was for.

"One thing." He wheeled and ducked down to kiss me. I was so surprised by his gesture of brief affection that I froze. "I love you," he said, the blue fire in his eyes blazing into mine, "Whatever happens now, that doesn't change."

I didn't know what to make of his intensity.

"Nothing is going to happen to you, Beau," I cajoled.

"Keep Charlie safe for me."

"Done," I assured him, " _Hurry_."

He nodded once more, and then pivoted away from me, some unfathomable emotion swimming in his eyes. Indecision warring with grit, it looked like, but I couldn't be sure. He leaped up the porch steps with surprising agility and barged through the front door. It smashed against the wall loudly, and Charlie jumped, looking up from the TV in surprise.

I didn't wait for the door to close behind him—I was already racing around the side of the house, half of my mind in the forest and streets around me—the other half making the unthinking ministrations that would take me up the side of the house and in through Beau's window.

I found his truck key in a pair of dirty pants hanging over the edge of the hamper, and stuffed it in my pocket.

Down below, Charlie's thoughts turned suspicious and concerned when he saw Beau in the front hall. His son's eyes were rimmed in red, and glassy with unshed tears.

Abrupt, side-sweeping confusion tore through Charlie's mind. His first thought was that this wasn't his child; he'd never seen him like this before.

"Beau?"

"Leave me alone," Beau snapped petulantly.

His feet slammed against the steps as he raced up the stairs, and then veered into his bedroom with me, slamming and locking the door behind him. Downstairs, it took Charlie a second to gather himself. He started ticking off the signs and symptoms, comparing his behavior to the frenetic uneasiness from last night, garnering the wrong impression immediately.

I was already at Beau's dresser, yanking out the first items I touched without seeing them, and tossing them to Beau, who shoved them in a duffel bag. From the hamper next to the bureau, I lobbed a few more dirty t-shirts and socks his way, as well as the pants I'd taken the key from. I would need these items to carry out the subterfuge against Joss, later.

Alarmed now, and back to himself, Charlie followed his son up the stairs and pounded on the door. The possibility of our incompatibility hadn't hit him yet; he was thinking more along the lines of drug use.

As they shouted back and forth, understanding flared in the Chief's mind, and a new type of concern swept through him.

Charlie tried the knob, unsuccessful, still calling questions through the thin obstacle.

I didn't pay their dialogue any mind. Distantly, a part of me was aware of the façade: Beau was clearing me of any misconduct—which was far, _far_ from true—and it seemed like he was breaking up with me—which I hoped was _not_ true.

I zipped the bag and secured the strap across his shoulder.

"I'll be in the truck," I whispered, "Go!" I gave him one nudge toward the door, and dove out his window. I summersaulted through the air once and landed silently on my feet in the grass. I ignored the altercation inside the house behind me. I flitted to the truck, and as I pulled open the door and ducked inside, I caught the first bits of Joss's approaching thoughts.

She was not thinking so much with words, but rather with instinct. I had seen into a couple trackers' minds in the past, but hers was the clearest I'd ever experienced, and my sense of foreboding grew. She was picturing Beau's blood trail as a glowing red ribbon, stretching out in front of her.

As we'd predicted, she'd caught his scent in town, and was on her way to the Swan residence. She paused, briefly, when she caught my siblings' and my fresh scents in the area, leaping into a tall hemlock to avoid confrontation. She watched the house from her perch, her thoughts smug. She was feeling quite self-assured—she'd found the boy's house in no time at all. But she was disappointed that we were here with him. Part of her had expected it, that we would be protecting him, but she placated herself with the idea that she would find a way to get him alone, sometime. She wouldn't attack here, and relief flooded through me.

Quickly, I dialed Carine's cell phone and told her we were on our way.

Inside the house, it sounded like the conversation was coming to a close.

"Just let me go, Charlie!" Beau was grinding out through his teeth, "It didn't work out, okay? I really, really _hate_ Forks!"

Charlie's mind went blank with anguished shock. Dimly, I could sense that the words were familiar; he'd heard them somewhere before, and they'd caused him great pain then, as well as now.

"I'll call you tomorrow!" Beau shouted as he strode toward his truck. I slipped the key in the ignition, keeping tabs on Joss, who was watching him. There was a swirling combination of heady bloodlust and exasperated self-restraint in her thoughts. To her, the boy smelled undeniably sweet, but she could not reward herself with the taste yet. Not here.

Beau's distress was clear on his face when he swung his long body into the driver's seat, having deposited his bag in the bed of the truck. His lashes were sticking together damply.

He twisted the key sharply in the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

I reached for his hand, desperate to sooth him in any way that I could. I was concerned about his ability to drive properly, as overcome with emotion that he was. I was worried he couldn't see clearly enough through the tears in his eyes. One lone droplet snaked down the straight edge of his nose.

When we were out of sight of the house, I insisted he pull over.

He didn't look at me. "I can drive," he argued.

But I wasn't having it. I slid across the bench seat and over his lap. I nudged his hands from the wheel and his foot from the gas pedal, and eased myself into the space between his leg and the door. Then I slid him out of my way, across the bench seat, with my hip.

"You wouldn't be able to find the house," I excused. Though that was certainly a factor, I didn't feel comfortable with letting him drive in such a state.

Behind us, Archie flipped the Jeep's headlights on. Beau jerked and whipped his head around to stare, wide-eyed and aghast, out the back window.

"It's just Archie," I murmured, slipping my hand back into his.

Beau turned back around and took a breath, tightening his fingers around mine. "The tracker?" he croaked.

"She caught the end of your performance," I informed him, "She's running behind us now—about a mile back." She was putting more distance between us than was usual, hesitant to get too close in case we decided to turn and attack.

Beau went rigid. "Can we outrun her?" he asked.

"No," I said through clenched teeth, pressing the gas pedal into the floorboard anyway. The truck's engine wheezed in protest.

Eleanor, who had been running parallel to the truck, pushed aside her desire to wheel on Joss. She'd decided she wasn't a threat if she was confining herself, straggling behind as far as she was, and she leaped toward the truck.

" _E—!_ " Beau began to shout, but I slid my hand over his mouth.

 _Sorry!_ El thought as she settled into the truck bed.

Dammit. I should have warned him.

"It's Eleanor!" I told him.

He exhaled, slumping in relief, and I dropped my hand to his knee.

"It's okay, Beau," I mollified him, wishing beyond all belief that my words could be true. Things were _not_ okay; they were far from okay, but I would do right by him. I would put things back to how they were. I would _make him safe_ again.

I explored another avenue of conversation, pushing aside my own dark thoughts in favor of distracting Beau—or, at least, attempting to do so.

"I didn't realize you were still so bored with small-town life," I mused, in reference to the farewell conversation that had taken place between Beau and his father. "It seemed like you were adjusting fairly well—especially recently. Maybe I was just flattering myself that I was making life more interesting for you."

"That was below the belt," he replied lowly, shamefaced. "Those were the last words my mother said to him when she left. It would have done less damage if I'd punched him."

"He'll forgive you."

Beau clamped his eyelids shut, and sorrow crossed his face so suddenly, it alarmed me.

"Beau, it's going to be all right," I soothed him again. _It's going to be all right. I will make it that way again._

His eyes slid open, and he dropped his gaze to my face, pain convulsing in the depths of his eyes, darkening them. "It won't be all right when we're not together."

"It's only a few days," I tried to convince the both of us, as if a few days wouldn't feel like an eternity, "Don't forget this was your idea."

"That makes it worse," he groaned. "Why did this happen? I don't understand."

Anguish seared through me like transformative venom. "It's my fault," I despaired, "I shouldn't have exposed you like that."

Beau gripped my hand fiercely. "No," he disputed, "That's not what I'm talking about. Okay, I was there. Big deal." _Big deal?!_ I stiffened, but let him continue. "It didn't bother the other two. Why did Joss decide to kill _me_? There are people all over the place—people who are a lot easier to get to." Beau shot a quick appraisal over his shoulder, probably wild with anxiety over Joss's proximity. "Why am I worth all this trouble?"

 _Trouble_? My teeth snapped together. Beau was not trouble. None of my family—save for one outstanding exception—thought so either.

I tried to explain. "I got a good look at her mind tonight. I'm not sure if there's anything I could have done to avoid this, once she caught your scent. It _is_ partially your fault," I admitted, glancing at him apologetically. "If you didn't smell so ridiculously delicious, she might not have bothered. But when I defended you… well, that made it a lot worse. She's not used to being thwarted, no matter how insignificant the object. She thinks of herself as a hunter—as _the_ hunter. Her life is consumed with tracking, and a challenge is what she loves best in life. Suddenly we've presented her with an amazing challenge—a large clan of strong fighters, all determined to protect the one vulnerable element. You don't know how euphoric she is right now. It's her favorite game, and we've just created the most exciting round ever. But if I had stood by, she would have killed you right then!" The impossibility of it all was maddeningly frustrating!

"I thought… I thought I didn't smell the same to others… as I do to you."

"You don't," I told him. "But that doesn't mean that you aren't still a temptation to every one of them. If you _had_ appealed to the tracker—or any of them—the same way you appeal to me, it would have meant a fight right there."

Beau shivered once.

"I don't think I have any choice but to kill her now," I divulged softly. "Carine won't like it."

" _I_ don't like it," Beau admitted.

I jerked my face toward him, astonished. "You want me to spare her?"

He blinked blankly. "No—I mean, yes. I don't care if she… dies," he assured me, "I mean, that would be a relief, right? I just don't want you… What if _you_ get hurt?"

Once again, his concern was in the entirely wrong place. I tried to make this as clear as possible. "You don't have to worry about me. I don't fight fair."

We crossed the bridge, the river churning beneath us ominously. Joss waited till we were across and then made the fifty-foot leap agilely.

"How do you kill a vampire?" Beau's softly spoken words were almost tentative.

I glanced at him, unsure. Was this piece of information vital for him to know? Would it frighten him if I were to tell him? The detailed process was quite horrific and barbaric, and there really was no need for him to know, as he would never be able to accomplish it himself. It took vampire teeth to tear through vampire skin. But I also wondered if this would placate him, sooth his worries somehow.

"The only way to be sure is to tear her to shreds, and then burn the pieces."

Shock did not register on his face. "And the other two will fight with her?"

"The male will." I was sure of it. "I'm not sure about Lauren. They don't have a very strong bond—she's only with them for convenience. She was embarrassed by Joss's behavior in the meadow…"

"But Joss and Victor—they'll be trying to kill you?" he pushed hoarsely.

"Stop," I ordered him. He worried over needless things. My safety was as good as guaranteed. His, however… "You focus on staying safe. You do whatever Archie tells you."

"How am I supposed to not worry about you?" he argued, "What does that mean—that you don't fight fair?"

I forced a sort of smile. Possibly, knowing the full extent of my advantages would placate his needless anxieties, so that he could focus on what was really important here—his own wellbeing. "Have you ever tried to act without thinking of that act first? Aside from involuntary muscle actions like breathing and blinking, it's terribly difficult to do. Especially in a fight. I'll see every single thing she plans, every hole in her defense. The only one who can hold his own against me is Archie—since he can see what I decide to do, but then I can hear how he'll react. It's usually a draw. Eleanor says it's cheating."

 _It so_ is _! You can't tell me otherwise!_

I smirked.

"Should Archie stay with you, then? If he's a better fighter than the others?"

 _Excuse me?!_ Eleanor's musings were sharp with affront.

"Eleanor can hear all this, you know," I informed him. "She's offended, and also not thrilled with the idea. It's been a while since she was allowed to really brawl, no holds barred. She plans to keep me and my cheating ways out of this as much as possible."

 _Damn right, I will!_ But underneath the competitiveness, her protective instincts were strong. She didn't want her little sister facing 'avoidable danger'.

"Is she still following?" Beau asked now, and the fear quaking in his voice told me that we were no longer talking about Eleanor.

Joss was listening to our conversation, having garnered both my mind-reading abilities and Archie's precognition. She stored that away for future advantage—whatever _advantage_ that would provide her. She continued to evaluate and accumulate.

"Yes. She won't attack the house, though. Not tonight."

I turned onto the hidden driveway, maneuvering the truck down the tree-lined three mile side road. Joss had taken to the trees, feeling safer with the wider viewpoint on her side. There was no attack instinct in her mind now. She was committed to biding her time.

I stopped the truck right in front of the house. Eleanor's feet touched the grass and she pulled the passenger side door open before I'd stopped, pulling Beau out of his seat by the arm, and then hooking that same arm over her shoulders. She wrapped her free arm around his waist and we flew up the porch and into the house together.

I could hear the melodical tenor of Lauren's inner voice before we were inside. Her mind was susceptible and inquisitive regarding our lifestyle and what Carine had told her, but she was also wary and distrustful. The guardedness in her mind was very strong against the coming battle with her coven leader.

A warning growl built behind Eleanor's teeth when she saw the nomad, setting Beau next to me so that she could have her hands free to fight with.

"She's tracking us," I spit at Lauren. A deeper part of me knew it wasn't Lauren's fault, but I wanted _someone_ to blame.

"I was afraid of that," she said.

Archie went to Jessamine's side and ducked to whisper the plan in her ear, too low for Lauren to hear in case she got any ideas. They flew upstairs to pack and gather what they would need. Royal's eyes followed them, his thoughts a swirling column of rage, and then went to wrap an arm around Eleanor. He didn't understand what all the fuss was about. He wouldn't have been affected if Joss had stolen Beau away from me. This amount of mayhem over a human's wellbeing was intolerable to him, and he couldn't understand it.

Across the river, Joss broke off, flying away from the house. Her thoughts fixated on the redheaded male, as she turned southwest.

"What will she do?" Carine inquired.

"I'm sorry. I was afraid, when your girl there defended him, that it would set Joss off."

"Can you stop her?" Carine begged. She hoped the two nomads were well-enough acquainted that Lauren might hold some influence over her.

Lauren shook her head, morosely confident. "Nothing stops Joss when she gets started."

"We'll stop her." Eleanor was confident, too. Her confidence was just as essential to her make-up as Royal's tenacity, or Carine's compassion. It was a part of who she was—part of what made her Eleanor.

"You can't bring her down," Lauren argued. I monitored her thoughts closely as she spoke, pleased at the correlation between her inner musings and vocal words. "I've never seen anything like her in my three hundred years. She's absolutely lethal. That's why I joined her coven."

This took my family by surprise, but of course, I had known of their ruse from the beginning. All were shocked, of course, aside from Eleanor. She scoffed her disagreement ingenuously. She took Lauren's words as nothing more than a challenge. She didn't believe in the threat Joss posed.

 _How could something so tiny be so dangerous?_ she mused.

Lauren turned to fix her gaze on Beau, her mind swirling with confusion and doubt. She didn't understand my family's reaction; she was flabbergasted by the lengths we were willing to go to. "Are you sure this is all worth it?"

The feverish snarl escaped me before I could stop it. She took a step back, understanding my territorial anger, at least, if she could not understand much else.

Carine's compassion was all-inclusive, but her love for her family went above all else. She could see Lauren could not be relied upon for much else, now. "I'm afraid you're going to have to make a choice."

Lauren debated for a moment. Though she could not comprehend our strange willingness to protect a human, she could see the ferocity of our family bond, and she would not cross us. In her long lifetime, she'd never known a coven so closely linked as ours, and she was captivated by the strong relationships between all of us. For so long, she'd never seen another way. Tonight, Carine had opened up new possibilities to her.

"I'm intrigued by the life you've created here. But I won't get in the middle of this. I bear none of you any enmity, but I won't go up against Joss." She had run with the tracker for too long, and though their bond was by no means unbreakable, she didn't feel comfortable with betraying her own leader. "I think I will head north—to that clan in Denali." Carine had told her about our cousins of sorts, and Lauren figured she might encounter less tension learning from them, as there was no contributing factor to the antagonism—that is, a human boy we were all set on protecting. She hesitated a moment more, sudden compassion rising in her mind. She appreciated Carine, and her attempt to show her another way of life. Despite the incomprehension of Beau's position in our family, she didn't think we deserved the trouble Joss had wrought. She could see the intensity of our bonds, and hoped, when this was all over, that they would stay intact. "Don't underestimate Joss. She's got a brilliant mind and unparalleled senses. She looks wild, but she's every bit as comfortable in the human world as you seem to be. She won't come at you head on… I'm sorry for what's been unleashed here. Truly sorry." She extended another perplexed glance in Beau's direction.

"Go in peace," Carine told her softly.

Lauren took one final sweep of the room around her. Despite her long days as a nomad, she was surprised that she craved the peace and predictability our clan presented. To have a home, a family… She hadn't known she'd been missing it until she'd seen the possibility of it for herself. I knew she'd head directly north.

As soon as she made her exit, Earnest crossed the room to enter in the code in the keypad on the wall. Once the combination was entered, it released the metal security shutters that protected the south-facing glass wall.

"How close?" Carine asked me.

"About three miles out past the river," I informed her, "She's circling around to meet up with the male."

"What's the plan?"

"We lead her off, then Archie and Jessamine will run him south."

"And then?"

I felt the muscles in my body lock in anticipation of the showdown. "As soon as Beau is clear, we hunt her."

"I guess she's left us no other choice," Carine said softly. _I'll join you and Eleanor on your journey north. Earnest and Royal will take the truck west. With luck on our side, we'll be able to split the male and female up early on._

I nodded in assent, then turned to Royal. "Get him upstairs and change clothes." This would hopefully buy us an extra advantage, mixing up the scent trails. Royal and Beau were closest in height—this was why I'd chosen him—but I had known how he might respond.

Royal's thoughts were infuriated and incredulous. He could not fathom why I would be asking this of him, after he'd taken his stance so firmly. "And why would I do that? What is he to me?" _It's not enough that I'm letting you take El from my side to help you? You want me to subject myself to that kid's awful stench now, too?!_

"Roy…" Eleanor protested, laying a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to reason with him, but he bucked it off stubbornly.

I didn't acknowledge his furious words with a response. Instead, I turned to Earnest, keeping myself focused on the tasks at hand. I didn't have time to respond to Royal's pigheadedness now. There were matters more worthy of my attention.

"Earnest?"

"Of course."

He hurried to Beau's side and flew him up the stairs to trade clothes.

I kept my voice low as I explained the strategic details to the rest of my family. Beau did not need to be made aware of this part of things. The less he knew at this point, the calmer and safer he would undoubtedly feel.

"El, grab some gear from the garage. The plan is to lead Joss north as long as we can, get her as far away from Beau as we can, and then ambush her." I reached into the duffel bag to unearth the unwashed items I'd grabbed out of Beau's laundry hamper. I tossed them to El, who plucked each item easily out of the air. "Throw these in the travel bag. We'll use them to fool Joss into thinking he's with us."

 _Brilliant,_ she conceded on her way out the door.

"Royal," Carine said, and he turned reluctant eyes on her, "You and Earnest will take Beau's truck west as a secondary diversion."

Royal opened his mouth to protest, but Carine held up a hand to stop him.

"Beau is with Edythe, which makes him a part of this family now. We protect our family." Her words were spoken at a low volume, but they rang with the authority of the matriarch that she was. Royal smashed his lips together, eyes burning, and turned his face away.

His thoughts were something else altogether, but I ignored that.

"We're hoping Joss will assume Beau is with me, and she'll follow us," I continued, "And that the male will follow you and Earnest." I fixed my eyes on Royal's averted profile, but his thoughts told me he was listening. He would go along with the plan. He would do what was right. Upstairs, I could hear the same thoughts of acknowledgement—though with far greater compassion—in Earnest's consciousness. "Victor will have no reason to attack or engage you—this is Joss's game. He knows that; and he's only playing his part as reconnaissance. Drive as far west as is prudent, until he turns off. Then return to Forks and keep watch over Charlie. He may return to the Swan residence when he realizes Beau isn't with you. We need to keep Beau's father protected, as well."

A disapproving huff of air exited Royal's nose. _Great. Now there's even_ more _humans to protect? And here I thought we were doing too much as is…_

I turned an angry scowl on him, and he stared down into my eyes with an expression of burning hatred.

Carine squeezed my hand before I could say or do something I would regret.

 _We don't have time for this,_ she reminded me.

I nodded curtly, and then wheeled toward the stairs, where Archie was finishing up in his bedroom, packing what he'd need into a small leather satchel—credit cards, cash, current identification…

Eleanor came back in from the garage then, a travel pack over her shoulders, and came to stand by me.

 _Caught all that,_ she assured me.

 _I'm listening,_ Archie thought in resignation—probably already having seen what I was going to say, but knowing I would relay the instructions anyway.

"Don't let him out of your sight, Archie," I ordered him severely, "Not for one second. He is irrationally courageous and self-sacrificing. I hate to think what ludicrous idea he could possibly come up with in the face of this peril."

 _No need to worry, Edy. I've got this. Beau'll be in good hands—_

"Archie…"

 _Nothing will happen! Trust me!_

I huffed. "He also needs to eat several times a day and drink more often than that. Make sure he gets at least eight hours of sleep in a twenty-four hour period…"

 _Yes, yes. I've got it! Quit worrying!_

Like _that_ was going to happen anytime soon…

Having finished changing, Beau and Earnest joined Archie at the top of the stairs. Each hooked a hand underneath Beau's elbows, and carried him down to the main level. Jessamine joined us half a second later, holding a duffel bag that would contain everything they might need in the south—measures of sun avoidance, hats, sunglasses, gloves, scarves, and hooded long-sleeved clothing. Due to our dormant sweat glands, the need for vampires to shower was restricted to instances of hunting, or other outdoor activities. Archie and Jess wouldn't need much in the way of outfit changes or toiletries.

Carine was passing out untraceable cell phones now—one to Earnest, and one to Archie. She kept one for our group. We would communicate via these devices when our adversaries were outside of hearing range.

"Earnest and Royal will be taking your truck, Beau," she informed him. Beau nodded and glanced furtively at Royal, who wore a pinched, truculent expression.

I didn't exactly appreciate the thoughts he was having about Carine—resenting her, in particular, for denying his 'evasive actions' so many weeks ago.

 _If I'd been able to do away with him then,_ he was thinking, _none of this ever would have happened…_

I reoriented myself on Carine's words, quashing the rising swell of anger in my chest.

"Archie, Jess, take the Mercedes. You'll need the dark tint in the South."

They nodded in approbation.

"We'll take the Jeep," she finished, coming to a stop next to me and El. She locked eyes with each family member, leaving the floor open to any questions. There were none; each of us were prepared and ready.

"Archie, will they take the bait?" she inquired.

Archie closed his eyes, focusing, and I absorbed the images floating through his mind. The Jeep's headlights, swerving wildly over an abandoned logging road… Joss, following a mile and a half behind… The male, leaping from tree to tree, eyes on Beau's truck down below, winding down the Trans-Canada highway… The clear, unobstructed way out South… Beau's agonized, exhausted expression in the shifting lights of the Mercedes' back seat… The brief glimpse of a rising sun over craggy red cliffs… The images shimmered and warbled, and then faded completely once he was satisfied he had his answers.

"She'll track you," he confirmed, opening his eyes, "The man will follow the truck. We'll be able to leave after that."

"Let's go," Carine said to Eleanor, and they headed toward the backdoor. _Take a moment,_ she thought in my direction, _But just a moment._

Our moment of separation had come, and the heavy leaden weight of dread and fear settled on my chest. The burden of the dark emotions made it difficult to breathe for a moment, though the act was unneeded for my kind. I moved to Beau's side, staring up into his beautiful eyes for a long moment. There were so many things I wanted to say, to express. My gratitude, my devotion, my fear, my anxiety, my love. I wanted to tell him there was no need to worry, that he was perfectly safe with Jess and Archie. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, if such a thing could be conveyed through words. I wanted to tell him I'd see him soon, but I could not shake the inescapable feeling of wrong-ness welling up inside of me. This was _wrong_. I could not leave him, I _shouldn't_. But I had to.

I reached up to grasp his face, reveling in the warm, smooth pulse of life underneath. He leaned down, fingers twining in the long strands of my hair, and I pressed my lips to his, ignoring my family, who studiously kept their sights averted.

I reveled in it for just one moment, allowing myself to get caught up in his scent, his warmth, the feel of his soft, yielding body against mine.

And then I pushed his shoulders back, our lips unlocking. I gazed at him for just a fraction of a second more—the clear depth of his blue eyes, and all the unconveyed emotions within them—and then, stone heart fracturing in two, I turned to face what was to come.

…

 **A/N:** Because boys can cry too, right? I went back and forth over just how much emotion Beau might have shown, and then decided with more. Because it was fitting. Because it was appropriate. Anyway. Hope you enjoyed this one, lovelies! Let me know what you thought if you have a minute! xo


	20. Subterfuge

**A/N:** I heard "Start a War" by Klergy and Valerie Broussard on the Riverdale S2 Premiere the other night, and immediately this scene hit me smack in the head. Haha. So this chapter is defs inspired by this song! Ah! I can see it all now. The running montages, the hazy, red sunset timelapse… Mmm. Yes.

Enjoy, lovelies!

(PS. Hope everyone had a fun and safe Halloween! Mine consisted of spending an hour doing my face up like a panther's, and then another couple following my little girls around the neighborhood while they trick-or-treated—my one year old freaked when we transferred the candy from her bucket into a bigger bag, and then would not take it back unless it had at least one piece of candy in it! LOL! xD And my three year old dressed up as a ghost and had a blast, as well. And now I get to eat all their Reese's! Yess!)

…

Eleanor kept the headlights off as we careened down the one-oh-one at top speed. Carine was in the passenger seat, body turned completely sideways so she could watch both Eleanor and me. Her ochre eyes were serious and muted in the indigo shadows of nighttime.

I sat huddled in the backseat, knees drawn to my chest. I wondered if I otherwise would have gone insane with anxiety if I hadn't known it was Archie who was with Beau. According to all logical reason, Beau was in perfectly capable hands—a psychic on one side, and one of the most vigorously trained soldiers of the Southern Rebellion on the other.

However, the half-hearted reassurance lost ground with each mile that grew between us. It was physically painful to be apart from him—my heart was torn in two, and only one half lingered in my hollow chest. The other half I'd left with Beau. It was maddening not to be able to count his heartbeats, not to be able to look into his crystal, cerulean eyes and know, beyond all reason of a doubt, that he was safe. It was like turning my back on the enemy—it felt _wrong_. The blackest kind of wrong.

If there had been any other way, I never would have left him. But the plan was working to our advantage. Joss was on our trail, her thoughts more akin to a hunting dog's than anything resembling a human's. As far as she was aware, Beau was with us—she had caught the scent of his dirty clothes in the pack next to me—and she assumed we'd recruited the best of our coven to flee with him: His mated mind-reader, the coven's leader, and the strongest fighter. In actuality, we did not make up security detail—we were the first diversion, the killing party.

The plan was to lead her as far north as we could—possibly up into Canada—before employing the fight strategy and taking her down. If all went according to plan, she would not get within a hundred miles of Beau, who would escape south with Archie and Jess. To ensure Joss's mate, the redheaded male, would be unable to aid her when it came time to fight—and thus, keeping the three-to-one advantage in our favor—Earnest and Royal would take Beau's truck west. The tracker would be a pile of burnt ash before he knew anything had gone wrong.

If Archie's visions held true, we would succeed—but it felt too good to be true for me. I could not shake the visceral, clawing panic inside my chest, twisting my numb, frozen insides into gnarled clusters.

Everything ached in me to go back for him—to grab him up and take him someplace where we could be alone. I had never felt more distressing discomfort in my life.

 _Is she following us?_

Carine's mental call broke through my tragic reveries, and I felt great relief for the interruption. When I blinked and found her pale face watching me, her expression was concerned.

"Yes," I whispered.

Eleanor chuckled darkly. Her thoughts were filled with the mental image of Joss's demise. If it were up to her, neither Carine nor I would get our hands dirty. Part of it was the pride—but mostly, it was her protective instincts taking effect.

 _How are you doing?_ Carine asked silently now, her eyes still fixed on my face. The unease there overflowed and washed across the empty space toward me. I was made aware that I was not the only one separated from my mate. Both Carine and Eleanor had left their husbands alone with the menacing, panther-esque male. Their thoughts were anxious, of course, but less so. They knew Earnest and Royal could handle themselves. Such notions did not soothe me. Such notions, in Beau's case, were farther from the truth than possible.

I shook my head, unable to speak the words.

Carine reached back, laying a hand on my knee. Her thoughts formed no comprehensible pattern, but the tenderness and compassion she held in her mind for me were ostensible. Through her eyes, my face appeared drawn and riddled with anxiety. The flash in my golden eyes was bright, fierce, and slightly wild. She could see the unbridled madness it was to be away from my love, but she could also see the bloodlust—the craving for the battle that was to come.

Eleanor veered the truck sharply onto an abandoned logging road, and she switched the lights on now. The image from Archie's predicted image solidified—the lamp shine bounced and swerved wildly across the uneven avenue. Eleanor had memorized the network of logging roads and four-by-four trails, popular and unpopular, long ago. Off-roading was one way she and Royal liked to pass their copious amounts of free time, and she often brought her Jeep along on hunting trips—preferring to bump and fly over the muddy divots like some sort of crazy cave-woman. It wasn't as fast as simply running straight through the forest, but to each their own. I hadn't given much thought to the way that Eleanor perceived things for a long while.

I arched my hips off the seat and pulled the cell phone from my back pocket. I pressed '1' to speed-dial Earnest's number, and then brought the device to my ear. Joss was in hearing distance, so I kept the conversation both brief and obscure.

"Edythe?" he answered.

"Your turn."

"Now," I heard him say to Royal before the connection cut off. Royal and Earnest would drive Beau's truck as far west as it took to shake Victor off their trail. When he eventually broke off, they would return to Forks to keep an eye on Charlie until they heard word from us.

I closed my eyes, funneling my attentions off of Joss for an instant so I could find her feline-like mate. The fraction of a second it took me to glimpse the taillights in his mind was enough. My focus snapped back, like an elastic band, winding tight around Joss's thought processes.

I pressed '2' for Archie's number. It didn't ring—he'd been waiting for my call.

"Hey," he said, "Victor followed the truck."

"Yes."

"Time for us to go, then."

"Yes."

"Good luck, Edy. See you soon."

"Very soon," I assured my brother, and then snapped the tiny silver cell phone shut. Some of the compressed anxiety on my chest seemed to lift a little, when I knew that Beau would get out safely, now.

Joss had fallen back half a mile, but I could still hear her. Though I hated to listen to her mind—it was a black place, full of cruelty, sadistic instinct and the intense focus of one-track determination—it was important I keep tabs on her, to ensure she was still on our trail. She was determined to stay out of both scent and hearing range, wanting to give off the ruse that we were conveying Beau successfully away from her.

We reached the end of the trail, thick greenery on three sides of us. I twisted my hair up and out of my face, securing it with an elastic.

Wordlessly, we disembarked and took off into the forest on foot, the pack over my shoulders. The hope was that Joss would follow, believing I carried Beau on my back. Of course, this meant we would need to stop for six to seven hours in any given twenty-four hour period. This 'rest break' would be when we would make our move.

My mother and sister flanked me wordlessly in the dark forest, their thoughts stoic and focused. They did not allow their concern for our other family members to cloud their judgment, and I did my best to follow their example.

Eleanor was strategizing her technique—trying to ferret out an approach that would keep Carine as much on the sidelines as possible—and, hopefully, me as well.

"Not a chance," I muttered to her. There was no possibility that I would stand back and watch my sister finish off the wrath of my existence. This was _my_ fight, and Eleanor had partially acknowledged this.

Now, her thoughts turned apologetic. _I don't want you getting hurt,_ she worried.

"You've got my back," I told her, "This is my fight. It's my responsibility."

She nodded in assent. _I'll back you up,_ she promised.

Carine was thinking through our plans fort he millionth time, attempting to plan everything down to the tiniest microbe of information. She didn't want to miss anything.

 _We'll lead her north, as far into the wilderness as possible, where there will be fewer witnesses… We'll set up camp, light a fire, pitch the tent… El and I will traverse off the campsite, posing a phony reconnaissance back to Forks… When Joss thinks Edythe is alone with Beau, surely she'll approach her. We'll have doubled back, of course, and then we'll jump in from behind. She won't stand a chance against the three of us._

A brief flicker of regret flashed through her thoughts. She wished it hadn't had to come to this, and she was still trying to accept the drastic measures we would undoubtedly need to take.

"She'll never stop," I barely breathed, "It's the only way."

 _I know._ Her thoughts were resigned.

I hated to subject Carine to this sort of desecration. I glanced sideways at El, and we shared a brief silent conversation.

 _We'll keep her out of this as much as possible._

"Yes."

The only debatable part of the plan was what might happen if Joss attempted to engage with me alone. Lauren had said she was a matchless fighter, but I did not think she'd ever faced a mind reader. Even when acting solely on instinct—which was truly very difficult to do. Only the most highly trained and disciplined were successful; even Jessamine could not quite succeed at the endeavor—one was still required to make decisions, up to a certain point. I was confident, that at the very worst, we would be an even match. And when El came to back me up, it would be over very quickly, then.

We kept moving—pale white specters against navy blue and jade green backdrops.

…

Dawn appeared, ghostly and washed in pearl, against Vancouver's rolling mountain-view.

It had been around five o' clock a.m. when we arrived at the town of Neah Bay—the northernmost town of the Olympic Peninsula. Its town and surrounding areas was the home to the local Makah tribe, who strongly depended on fishing the local marine life for their main source of income.

We had been hoping a fisherman might be out early to ready his boat for the day, and that we could bribe him to take us across the Juan de Fuca strait, to Canada. It irritated me that we must go to these lengths to uphold our appearances—of course, it would have been much faster for us to swim. Not to mention, it would give Joss less time in the village, in case she decided she was thirsty.

However, we had a persona to uphold. Beau was supposed to be with us, of course, and even to a long-resigned nomadic vampire, it would raise her suspicions if she thought we were swimming him across.

Lady Luck was on our side when we approached the moored docks. At the other end, a gnarled old man was readying his small fishing boat for what looked like an expedition. His skin was folded and worn from sun exposure and age, his hair braided in a single platinum braid down his back. He wore a thick fisherman's sweater—the morning air around us was hazy with icy fog, which soothed me. We had enough cover for the trip across the strait in the diffuse morning light.

Now, on the other side of the strait, watching the man's small boat depart, I listened for the tracker.

Joss's mental trailing had faded in and out of my periphery for the last few hours. At first, I assumed she was merely testing her wits—testing her tracking skills, possibly. Indeed, she would be able to follow our trail, even miles behind, or maybe she had begun to feel threatened by how close she'd been following. But as the night surrendered to morning, her thoughts seemed to grow unfocused and disjointed.

I hadn't heard anything from her for over half an hour now, and I was beginning to feel uneasy. The lack of hearing made me unusually disconcerted.

The trip across in the man's compact boat had taken no more than an hour and a half. Surely she couldn't be _that_ far behind.

Carine caught the agitation in my expression.

 _Is everything as it should be, Edythe?_

I held up a finger in her direction, considering.

Eleanor and Carine stood very still beside me while I listened intently for Joss's quickly becoming familiar voice. There was nothing.

"Maybe…" I started to say, but trailed off.

"What is it, Edythe?" Carine prodded.

"I haven't heard her in awhile. Maybe I should swim back to the mainland while you two wait here, just so I can make sure she's still following…" I felt my brow crease.

"Do you have reason to believe she would have turned back?"

"No, but—"

"She's a tracker, Edy. It's most likely just part of her sick game. That, or she somehow figured out you can read her mind and she's probably just trying to stay out of your range."

Both of these had been possibilities I'd thought of. But the anxiety swirled inside, and I hesitated.

"We'll go with you," Carine offered. "It's not safe to leave you alone."

"No," I said, shaking my head quickly, "No, it's fine. Let's just keep going. El's probably right—she's probably just staying out of hearing range."

"I am?"

"Yes." I looked hard into her face, trying to convince myself of the fact.

Carine laid a comforting hand on my arm. "Let's set up camp a little ways into the forest, so that Beau can rest. We'll build a fire and pitch the tent. She'll show up soon, surely."

I nodded my assent, and we left the shoreline, melting into the sheltering trees as the sun began to burn away the fog.

…

The spit and crackle of the small fire we'd built was the only sound against the early morning setting.

The three of us sat huddled around the flames, not because we were cold, but because there was nothing else we could do. As we sat, each minute seeming to stretch longer and longer, I could feel my agitation beginning to swell—like a hemorrhaging brain under duress.

It had been two hours since we'd arrived on Vancouver Island, and still, I had not heard from Joss. I was beginning to regret crossing the strait before I'd clued in to her absence, but of course, I had not. The worry clawed at the back of my mind, etching gouges of horror into my consciousness—that, somehow, she'd had contact with the male; that he'd figured out where Beau had gone; that she was on her way to him, now.

Just the thought had me leaping to my feet, a fierce hiss sliding through my teeth.

 _What is it?_ Carine was alarmed.

"It's… It's nothing. I'm just…" I looked away, beginning to pace. The agitation was too much now—I could not sit still any longer. "What if she's figured it out? That Beau's not with us? What if the male gleaned some sort of information…?"

El's eyes followed my frantic pacing, back and forth in front of the small fire, elbows to knees, chin to palms.

"Here we sit, doing _nothing_ —just waiting for her to show up, when that's not even a given!"

 _Try to be patient,_ Carine encouraged, _She'll run if we chase her. The best approach is to let her come to us._

"But what if she doesn't come? What then, Carine?"

"She'll come." Eleanor was sure.

"You don't know that!" I snarled sharply at her. "You can't read her mind, you don't know the way she works! You have _no idea_!"

"Jesus," El murmured, holding up her hands, "I was only trying to help, Edy."

I huffed and sank down onto the ground beside her. "I know," I whispered, "I'm sorry."

She folded an arm over my shoulders and pulled me in for a short embrace. She didn't say anything, but understanding and acceptance passed through her thoughts.

"It's understandable that you would be anxious, Edythe," my mother consoled me. She reached across Eleanor's embrace to tuck an escaped strand of hair behind my ear. "The kind of love you possess for Beau—it is all-consuming, unmatchable. I see that every time you look at him. There is nothing you wouldn't do for him… This will all be over soon, and you'll be with him before you know it."

I heard the dovetailing course her thoughts had taken. The curiosity burned in her mind—there was more concern there than I had previously been aware of. Earnest was confident that we would find some sort of happy medium, some sort of compromise. Carine wasn't so sure.

 _Have you decided then?_ she eventually asked, _About his fate?_

I groaned and bowed my head. "If anything happens to him, I will never forgive myself."

"Nothing will," she cajoled, "We are all on his side. And whatever you decide for the remainder of his future, we'll support you in that, too."

Eleanor snorted quietly, shattering the somber mood. "Speak for yourself, Carine," she retorted, "Some of us see the inevitability of where this is heading…"

I wrenched myself from my sister's loose hold and jerked my face up to glare at her. "I will not damn Beau to a irredeemable existence," I hissed.

"Edy," she said, her eyes suddenly soft, "You'd really let him die before you let Carine turn him?"

I couldn't answer. The immediate, resounding 'no' locked halfway up my throat, and my lips parted, but no sound emitted from them. I pushed two fingers between my brows and groaned again. "No," I finally whispered, "I… I can't do that. I won't do this to him… You don't understand." My voice was barely a whisper of wind now, but I knew they both could hear me clearly, "I know what Archie's seen. I know how concrete those two options are to him, but I… I can't chance his eternal damnation for something so self-prophesizing."

"Would you do it?" she urged, "If you had to? If there was no other option?"

"No." I locked my teeth together on the word, forcing it to be true. "Not by my choice."

Eleanor shook her head, stumped. She didn't understand how I could have found the one my heart loved, only to fate him to such a tragic, early demise such as old age. She didn't share my viewpoint on what we were, what our strange half-life meant to me. Eleanor didn't comprehend the true depravity I believed to be true for us. She didn't understand Beau's purity—she didn't understand how truly, truly _good_ he was.

He deserved every kind of divine reward he could ever be entitled to. I could not take that away from him.

I was loath to think of a future without Beau—even if everything went according to plan. If he, and my family, as well as myself, came through this intact, there would undoubtedly be more obstacles in our way. Illnesses, accidents, natural disasters… How long would I fight the inevitable? How long would I put off what was simply a matter of timing? Would I truly be able to let him go when his time came? Who was to judge when the appropriate timing _was_? Hadn't I already infringed on that possibility not just once but twice?—I would not allow my murderous temptation for his blood to count as some sort of sick fate.

 _I cannot pretend I know what you're going through, Edythe,_ Carine thought now, her golden eyes on the flames, reflecting their amber brightness. _But what I do know is that you are as good and righteous as most of our lot come. You are a far better person than you see in yourself. I wish I could hold up a magic mirror, which could show you what I see… I have faith in you and the outcome of your relationship. I know how deeply rooted your sacrilegious beliefs run. I know the fate you see for us, or at least for yourself. I cannot argue your opinion more than I already have tried to do in the last eighty years. I respect your standpoint, as I know you respect mine._

 _But Beau has a choice in this, too. Ultimately, it is his life, his decision, but you are a couple now. And as many couples do, you'll have to make this decision together. It's possible… That he would be willing to pay the price, in exchange for forever with you._ My teeth locked together, but she continued. _You have to consider the possibility that he may choose it._

I didn't know where Beau stood on the possibility of becoming a vampire. In all reality, we'd only known each other a couple of weeks, and I hadn't been able to be fully open with him until only two days ago.

One thing I did know: I would do everything in my power to keep Beau human. I would sacrifice everything I had for the sake of his safety and his humanity—I would fight for him until his final breath. Incontestably, he would not want this life for himself, despite his severe lack of self-preservation. Surely, he would share my viewpoint on this.

Nevertheless, the conversation would never come up.

But… The word echoed through my mind, and helplessly, my thoughts carried me forward onto the next train of consideration… What if he desired this horrible damnation? What if he _were_ willing to risk it all, for me?

I could not deny the swell of selfish pleasure that rose like the tide inside of me at the possibility. I could not deny the joy it would bring me, however irredeemable, if Beau really were to choose this life for himself. But to have my joy would mean to sacrifice everything good and pure about Beau—and I couldn't do that…

I supposed the groundless circuit of thought within my mind was answerless for now, then.

A few feet away, Carine pulled out the cell phone to call Earnest for an update. The male had stopped following them after a short amount of time, and they'd returned to Forks immediately. Royal followed the male around town, even all the way up to the airport in Port Angeles and back, while Earnest stood guard in the forest by Charlie's house. Nothing of consequence had happened, and this appeased Carine's anxieties.

…

"Ah!"

I leaped to my feet just before noon, and immediately, both Eleanor and Carine glanced up at me.

"There you are," I muttered sardonically.

It hadn't been much—just a vague flicker of her mental presence, but it had been enough. She had just arrived at the shoreline. The poignancy of her surroundings had been incredibly sharp—her focus had been narrower, somehow, focused only on the studious tasks at hand.

I never thought I would be relieved to hear her vitriol thoughts.

 _How close?_ Carine asked.

"Shoreline," I muttered, taking a couple steps in the direction her thoughts had come from, as if pulled by a string toward my enemy. Every fiber in my body ached to attack, and to attack now, but the logical side of me battered against the urge. If we wanted this to go smoothly, we had to wait for her to approach.

Her visit was uneventful. I heard her mental voice as she advanced, and we took up post, in various places around the tent, where we'd hidden the pack. I knew there were holes in our plan—the most important one the lack of a human heartbeat—but I hoped she would simply not notice this part; I hoped that she would take his scent as confirmation enough.

Sure enough, when she saw our numbers and our readiness, she did not attack. I engaged Carine in conversation about their faux rendezvous, which I knew Joss would overhear. When she'd confirmed our numbers, she retreated back the way she'd come, flush with her scent trail.

When I could no longer hear her, we packed up our gear and headed north, into Strathcona Park. It was a fairly isolated part of the forest. There were no roads or footpaths, and not very many humans came out this far.

We found an appropriate place to pitch the tent and build another fire—for the sake of keeping our human warm; of course, we didn't need it.

The night passed in the absence of confrontation. I did not hear from Joss's mind again. When the sun rose, we cooked oatmeal and coffee for the fake human we transported, and then buried the evidence. The smell of the food would linger, and when Joss crossed it, it would lend confidence to our story.

We hiked further north through the thick underbrush and foliage, leaping over various fallen trees and creeks. I felt uncomfortable traveling further away from Joss when I could not hear her thoughts and know with any certainty that she was following us—I could only hope she was.

Late in the afternoon, as the sun began to sink, we employed our final plan after finding another place to set up camp.

"We'll be back at sundown tomorrow," Carine said in normal volume, in case Joss was listening, which I doubted. I could not hear her thoughts, but it was always safer to be thorough.

 _Good luck._ Carine squeezed my hand once, and they were off. Of course, they weren't going far, but just in case Joss was within hearing distance, we had to make it seem so.

I took up position in front of the tent, adrenaline spiking through my dry veins like a bright electric current. Lauren had said Joss was 'absolutely lethal'. Well, I would be even more so. She wouldn't be carrying out her despicable ways for much longer.

But my doubts soon got the best of me. Rain clouds coagulated on the darkening horizon. The sky turned grey, then lavender, and then gradually, a deep purple. I stood as stiff as a sentry, prepared for battle, even as the hours dragged on. Even as I heard nothing from Joss.

I had over-excited myself, catching a glimpse of her mental voice, but that had been nearly twelve hours ago now, and all at once, I deflated. I suspected she'd somehow caught onto the ruse, and she'd fled.

There was no sign of her, and eventually, I backed down from my feigned post, curling up by the extinguished fire ring.

Carine and Eleanor returned when the sky began to brighten.

 _No sign of her?_

"None," I said lowly, staring into the dwindling embers. "I think we've lost her. I haven't heard anything since yesterday morning."

The thrill of intention flared in Eleanor's mind. _Let's go after her, then!_ Her body leaned forward unconsciously, as she prepared to take the tracker down.

Carine contemplated for a moment, wondering if this might be part of her ploy, an attempt to fool us and reel us back in before we travelled too far 'with Beau'. The thought that Joss might have discovered Beau wasn't with us did cross her mind, but it did not hold as much conviction as the idea still held in my own thoughts.

She decided to check in with Earnest before we made any subsequent decisions.

"Darling," he greeted her, "Have you had success?" Immediately, I could sense the undertone of stress to my father's voice, and it piqued my anxiety.

"No," Carine murmured softly. She had her back turned to us, and was staring into the forest. "Edythe hasn't heard anything from Joss in almost a day… Do you have an update on the male?"

"He visited the high school Monday night, and then sojourned the Swan residence after Charlie had left for work. I didn't interfere, as Charlie was safely at the station. Neither of us have seen him since then; I believe he may have left Forks entirely."

The effect of the news was like a blow to the chest. I was _sure_ now, that Joss had discovered the ruse we were trying to pull. I attempted to remind myself that she had no idea where Archie and Jess had taken Beau—and she would have no way of finding him. His retreated scent trail had been well disguised. He'd traded clothes with Earnest; he'd fled in a car he'd never been in before.

I tried to convince myself that, at the very worst, the two had reconvened someplace to reevaluate their plan. But I could not reason with the palpable anxiety that was beginning to consume me. My vision had taken on a blurred quality, which was unusual to vampires as our vision was unerringly without flaw. I could focus on nothing more than the desire to find the tracker and tear her to pieces.

Carine ended the call and turned back to us. There was no need to explain the phone call that had taken place; we'd overheard clearly.

"Do you think they've met up someplace?" Eleanor asked after a fraction of a second of silence.

"It's a certain prospect," Carine agreed, "I think it would be a good idea to refigure our battle plan, in case they approach us together."

"Psh," Eleanor scoffed, "Let them come. We can take them."

I didn't say a word. Unconsciously, I'd drifted approximately ten feet away, back toward the way we'd come.

Carine watched my turned back with anxiety. Underneath my shirt, she could see that my shoulders were stiff with unease.

 _Edythe?_

I did not revolve to face them, but I turned my head slightly to the side to indicate that I was listening.

 _What are you thinking, daughter? What are your thoughts?_

I circled to face them. I could see my face in both my mother and my sister's minds. My face was hard and stony with resolution.

"We find her trail and follow it. In the event that we don't find her, at least we'll know where she went. There is no point in continuing to run if she's abandoned the chase."

They did not argue with my decision, and we were soon on our way, travelling analogous to the trail we'd taken north, heading back south now. If Joss _had_ abandoned her pursuit, it made sense she would have returned to Forks to meet up with her mate.

Eleanor and Carine were both anxious to return home, fearing their husbands would be unprepared for a fight the nomads may initiate.

After approximately a hundred miles, Eleanor found her trail, and lifted her hand in silence.

 _Bingo!_

"It's a few hours old," she reported as Carine and I bounded over.

"Six or seven," I concurred, sniffing for myself.

In silent consensus, we followed the path east. I stayed a few paces ahead of them always, intent on getting to her first. As we travelled, the thrill expanded inside of me. This was my chance! We were finally going to spring upon her, and finally, _finally_ , put a rest to this horrific quest!

"What's east of here?" Eleanor wondered as we sprinted through the forest.

"Just forest between here and the coast," Carine replied, "There's a ferry on the east side of Nanaimo. It goes to the mainland—Vancouver, I'm sure."

"She wouldn't take a ferry," Eleanor ascertained.

"No," I interjected, "But she might get on a plane. What if she flies back to Seattle, to meet up with her mate?"

I pushed my legs harder, worried now. There was no longer any need for stealth. We streaked through the damp forest without sound, posthaste.

…

It was twilight when we arrived at Nanaimo.

"She was here!" I blurted in a low voice. Joss's scent was strong leading up to the ferryboat terminal, and I was certain she'd used the ship to cross. I didn't pause to wonder why she was so intent on keeping up with the human charade. We boarded without hesitation.

The hour and forty minute crossing was excruciating, and it came as a great effort to keep my pace to that of a human as we disembarked. Great relief overcame me when we picked up Joss's trail right away again, following it to a nearby taxi stand, where it disappeared, within reason.

"Where would she have gone?" Eleanor wondered aloud. She looked up and down the street, as if she could resolve the question with simple sight.

"We need to check the airport," I decided. This was our most likely possibility, and I stepped off the curb to hail a cab. When the driver laid his eyes on the three of us—in his mind stunningly beautiful despite our rugged appearances—he skipped over three waiting crowds and pulled up in front of us.

"The airport Hilton, please," I said before he could ask where we were going.

He attempted to engage us in conversation a few times, but I was not in the mood for small talk. Carine took mercy on the man, and answered his questions politely, yet briefly.

She paid him a hefty tip when we arrived at the Hilton, where El abandoned the travel pack in a large waste bin. The gear would set off the metal detectors in the airport, and we preferred to go about our mission with as little perlustration as possible.

Sure enough, inside, we discovered Joss's scent everywhere. It was impossible to discern which way she'd went, for she'd visited every terminal, every bathroom, every possible accessible part of the airport. To me, her scent seemed slightly stronger leading toward the tarmac where the smaller airplanes were located. Had she stolen one? Surely it would not have been difficult to book a ticket. But of course, this was a game to Joss, and who knew? Maybe grand theft aircraft was a thrill for her?

Carine called Archie while Eleanor checked the departures board for the soonest subsequent flight to Seattle. I kept tabs on her mind while I listened intently to Carine's conversation.

" _Carine._ "

"Hello, Archie," Carine greeted him, "How are things from your vantage? How is Beau doing? Is he well and safe?" She kept her eyes locked on mine as she asked these questions, knowing I would want them answered as soon as possible.

" _Yes_ ," he assured us.

Carine sighed. "Regretfully, we've lost track of Joss. Victor has fled Forks as well. We think they've planned to reconvene somewhere—possibly the male has unearthed some information he think Joss may benefit from. We assume she's stolen a small airplane and headed back to Forks to start over from scratch. Have you seen anything useful?"

" _I just saw her,_ " he said, and I hissed quietly between my teeth. " _She'll be in a long room—with mirrors everywhere, a gold stripe across them. She was running a VCR in the dark, but I think this was at another place… I can't be sure, though; it was dark… She'll be in the mirror room tonight or tomorrow; it wasn't exactly clear… There's some secondary decision that remains unmade… Whatever made her take that plane… it was leading her to those rooms._ "

"I see," Carine murmured quietly. This discouraged her; there was not much to go off of Archie's vision. It was too vague to glean a clear plan of action. "Thank you, Archie. Edythe would like to speak to Beau. Is he available?"

" _Yes_ ," he said, and then, as Carine passed the phone to me, " _Beau_?"

There was a muffled sound as Beau took the cell phone, fabric rubbing against the speaker—it sounded like cotton, his shirt?—and then, his voice—his sweet, arduous, anxious, breathless voice: "Hello?"

"Beau." Immense relief washed over me, and for a minute, everything was okay—for a split second it didn't matter where Joss had gone. In this moment, my heart had inscrutably been repaired. His voice dispatched across the phone lines, and swathed the shape of my face in a warm caress.

"Oh, Edythe—where are you?"

"Outside of Vancouver." And then some of the respite lessened, and I remembered the gravity of our situation. "I'm sorry, Beau—we lost her. She seems suspicious of us—she stays just far enough away that I can't hear her. She's gone now—looks like she stole a small plane. We think she's heading back to Forks to start over."

"I know," he said, unsurprised, of course, "Archie saw that she got away."

I felt momentary irritation with my brother. It truly was not necessary to tell Beau so many details. It would only burden his already fragile mind. "You don't have to worry, though," I tried to soothe him, "You've left no trail for her to follow. You just have to stay with Archie and wait till we find her again. Archie will get a bead on her soon enough." I was confident in my brother's abilities. Surely, Joss would not stay in the long, mirrored room forever. And Archie would see when she moved.

"I'll be fine," Beau said, "Is Earnest with Charlie?"

"Yes." I relayed what Earnest had told us of Victor's actions around Forks. "Don't worry—Charlie's safe with Earnest and Royal watching."

"What do you think Victor is doing?" Was it anxiety I sensed warbling in his voice?

"Trying to pick up the trail. He's been all through the area during the night. Royal traced him up to the airport in Port Angeles, all the roads around town, the school… he's digging, Beau, but there's nothing to find."

"And you're sure Charlie's safe?"

"Yes. Earnest won't let him out of his sight. I'll be there soon. If the tracker gets anywhere near Forks, I'll have her." _I'll have her._ My vision shimmered at the edges, a deep ruby color, and the bloodlust zapped in my fingers. _I'll have her._ My fist clutched at empty air, imagining her hair twined in my fingers, forcing her to her knees in front of me, those malevolent crimson eyes finally cleared of their confidence. She would know what was coming for her, and I would read every regret, every facet of remorse in her mind as I tore her limbs from her body.

Beau gulped loudly, as if he could hear the thirst for murder in my thoughts. "Be careful," he warned me, "Stay with Carine and Eleanor."

But I was confident that, even if I did get ahead of them—which, I would admit, was a great possibility—my determination alone would be enough to take her down. She would not live another twenty-four hours. I would find her before then.

"I know what I'm doing."

"I miss you," he murmured.

My composure thawed, all thoughts of decimation and slaughter evaporating in the face of his tenderness.

"I know," I told him, "Believe me, I know. It's like you've taken half of my self away with you."

"Come and get it, then," he challenged.

I could nearly taste his scent on the back of my tongue, his sweet ambrosia, and for an instant, there was no resulting burn accompanying it. "As soon as I possibly can," I guaranteed him, "I _will_ make this right first." Fervent determination swirled like a firestorm inside my chest. Unconsciously, I felt my body bow forward in preparation of the battle that was to come in only a few hours' time.

"I love you." His voice was soft, and once again, it domesticated the fury inside me.

"Could you believe that, despite everything I've put you through, I love you, too?"

"Yes," he said confidently, "I can."

"I'll come for you soon."

"I'll wait for you."

I ended the call unwillingly, and turned to focus on the task at hand. My resolve had been renewed with the phone call. I held Beau's words close to my heart like a shield. With his blessing and his avocation, I felt I could take on the world. I _would_ defeat the tracker—at this point, I felt I could do it with my eyes closed and a hand tied behind my back—that was how powerful Beau made me feel.

Eleanor had rejoined us with news of a flight out of Vancouver to Seattle two hours from now. That gave us enough time to purchase tickets—seating wasn't ideal, and we didn't get to sit anywhere close to each other, but that was alright. We would be able to communicate efficiently enough through unspoken thought and my subtle, quickly spoken words. Besides, there wouldn't be much to say until we landed and were on our way back to Forks.

The interim also gave us enough ability to purchase new sets of clothing from the airport gift shop, as well as hand luggage to hold the appropriate items—our soiled clothing, passports, money, toiletries, magazines. It would look suspicious if we boarded an airplane without luggage—especially an international flight.

I spent the remaining waiting period in agonized anxiety, standing like a statue in front of the terminal windows, unbreathing, just a little too still. Carine warned me a couple of times, and I caught myself, shifting my weight, focusing on breathing evenly—but then my thoughts would begin to race once more, and the frenetic energy transferred to my body. Unlike a human under a great deal of stress, who might pace or fidget, or talk excessively, vampires under duress went unnaturally still.

Finally, El came to stand by me, knocking her elbow against me hard. The force knocked me sideways, but of course, I regained my footing quickly.

I smirked at her.

 _It lives,_ she noted in her mind.

Mercifully, the flight was on time, and we arrived at the SeaTac airport in less than three hours. We abandoned our newly-acquired possessions—aside from the essentials, such as our passports and money—in nearby trashcans and headed toward Forks on foot. It was faster this way, and the added bonus of being able to search for Joss's sent was not unnoticed.

By the time we reached the outskirts of Forks, the sense of foreboding I'd formerly abandoned had returned. We caught her sent on the southeast side of the town's borders, but it was not fresh. As we meticulously combed every street of the town, the dreadful sensation grew. Not only was there no fresh scent of Joss, but the man's trail was at least a day old as well.

This confirmed our suspicions that he had gone to Vancouver Island to meet up with his mate, and I wondered what he could have discovered that would have caused such a sudden disappearance of the two. Not for a fraction of a second did I believe she'd given up her quarry.

"I don't believe it, either," Carine murmured thoughtfully. We had gathered near Charlie's empty house so that we could discuss our next moves with Earnest and Royal.

Just then, her cell phone rang.

"Archie?" she answered.

" _She's here,_ " his panicked voice bleated over the phone, " _or at least she will be soon._ "

I was immediately at Carine's side, holding my hand out for the phone. She passed it over wordlessly.

"Talk to me," I snapped.

"The room from before—the dark one—it cleared up just a few minutes ago. I was sketching it out when Beau woke up and he recognized it as his mother's family room. She's here in Phoenix, Edythe, she found Renee's house, and I don't know _how_." His voice was agonized. "I'm so sorry," he said, "I don't know what she's doing—if she's waiting for Renee, or if she's waiting for Beau. Victor must have found her address in Beau's school records or something…"

Of course. It was a clever move, I had to admit that, but the anger swirled so potently inside my head that I couldn't focus. I could not acknowledge rational reason in this moment. I could hardly speak through my clenched jaw.

"Do _not_ let him out of your site. Not for a _second_! We're on our way."

"We'll meet you at the airport," he said, and then, quieter, "I'm so sorry, Edythe."

"Just watch him, Archie. Watch him like a hawk."

I knew, without a doubt, that when Beau caught wind of this new revelation, his kind, courageous and self-sacrificing nature—which I had perceived with such awe before, but now it terrified me—would overtake him, and I knew, I _knew_ he would not hesitate to do something stupid if his mother was in danger.

Beau's life depended on Archie's watchful eye, now. I hoped he was up to the task.

…

 **A/N:** This section was HARD for me to write! It was mostly because I had to make sure to get my facts straight, but I didn't like that it was difficult to write 'freelance', so to speak. It makes me uncomfortable looking forward—but alas, I will overcome.

Another difficulty was that, unlike Edward, Edythe has a very short amount of time to wrap her head around the inevitability of Beau's transformation. Of course, as we all know, it is quite suddenly thrust upon them all. Unlike Beau and Edythe, Bella and Edward have a plan laid out; she has her house in order, they are ready for it, and Edward especially has had time to process and adjust. Edythe nor Beau get that liberty, so I had to compact all of this down into a very short time frame (i.e. one chapter). Hope I did it justice! Let me know what you thought if you have a second! Next chapter—the climax of the whole story!


	21. Decision

**A/N:** I've been meaning to add this in here for a time, now—but thank you for (now well over) 100 reviews! So awesome! And thank you for all the positive feedback on the last chapter. I was actually super nervous to see what you guys would think, so I'm glad you liked it!

Someone commented on how sad the last chapter was, because we know what is coming—and I totally agree. Writing it and this chapter was surprisingly heartbreaking for me. I'm glad I'm going through with the alternative, because it's a much smoother transition than this abrupt transformation was :'( Of course, it's sad for Beau—but I was appalled by how heartbreaking it also was for Edythe, after I've immersed myself deeper into her psyche. Yeesh.

And as far as the plan goes—for anyone who is confused—I will be finishing the book in the Life and Death world, and then I'll do the alternative ending after the final L&D chapters are posted, and then I'll continue on to New Moon through Edythe's eyes—which will be called Darkest Hour. Can't wait to share my edit with you guys! :)

Enjoy this one…! Or… don't :'( *tears*

…

I sat abnormally inert—the type of inertness humans notice—throughout the entire flight to Phoenix. This time, Eleanor sat beside me, and when she noticed my statue-like state, she kicked me in the ankle, hard enough that it would have shattered a fragile human bone.

I blinked, but otherwise did not move.

The stress of the situation was too much for me to handle. I trusted my brother and sister, truly I did, but I did _not_ trust Beau's wildly incongruous instincts. This would not be over until I was in his arms again, and I was glad he, Archie and Jess would be meeting us at the airport. There would be no delay. We would disembark, and I would be reunited with my love again. My heart ached for his closeness, his warmth, his soft fragileness again.

Ten seconds had passed, and now, El elbowed me so hard in the side, it would have ruptured a mortal's kidney.

I turned my head slowly to look at her, cocking an eyebrow.

She stared wide-eyed at me.

 _Breathe_ , she urged, _People are noticing._

I took an exaggerated breath, lifting my shoulders almost to my ears, and then letting them fall.

She rolled her eyes. _What's the plan?_

"The plan," I repeated, and in the seat across the aisle, Carine cocked an ear to listen in, "We get in, and get Beau out. I'll catch the first flight to anywhere with him."

 _And then?_ Carine fished.

"And then the rest of you converge on Renee's house and take care of the tracker and her mate."

Eleanor worried it was a trick. She didn't want me going alone.

 _I stick with you,_ she reiterated.

I sighed. "They'll need you to fight with them."

Eleanor contemplated this. She could see the logic there, but she still didn't feel comfortable with me going alone.

"Jess?" I suggested.

 _Maybe. She might not want to leave Archie, though._

"Royal?"

El snorted underneath her breath in disbelief.

I narrowed my eyes at her.

 _Carine?_ she offered.

"Maybe," I breathed.

Carine's thoughts were questioning, and I explained in a terse whisper, the plan.

 _Certainly I'd go with you,_ she agreed immediately. _Or I'm sure Earnest would as well. The Isle is always a possibility…? It's isolated enough that the chances of them finding him would be slim, and you'd be able to hear the thoughts of anyone who was to approach…_

I nodded. The plan was set—now all that was left to do was carry it out.

Time passed slowly—each tick of the second hand on the clock like the pulse of blood behind a mortal bruise. I ached for Beau's warm, soft arms around me. I ached for the assuredness I would see in his eyes. I ached for the death of the tracker who was so intent on stealing Beau's young, pure life from him. I ached for things to be as they were only three days ago.

How had so much changed in such a brief amount of time?

It became clear to me that I would have to find some way to leave Beau, once he was safe again. I was tempting fate by continuing to put myself close to him. Every minute he spent in our world was a minute spent in peril.

It might kill me to leave him, but somehow, I had to find a way.

But the thought was too painful to bear, and I could do no more than merely decide that this would be the correct course of action. I could not dwell on it, or make plans in accordance with it.

I would focus on today, this minute. Tomorrow would come later.

But I _would_ be strong enough someday. I had to be—if these last two days had been any indication at all of how star-crossed we really were.

We were just about to the tarmac when everything fell apart—again.

 _Edythe?! Edythe, I'm sorry! He's gone! I'm so sorry—he went to meet her! I don't know how it happened. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!_

Wild panic tore through me, and my hand tightened reflexively around the armrest. It splintered to pieces in my fingers with a loud detonation. Humans in the immediate vicinity started and swiveled their heads around, but they did not discover the source of the sound.

 _What?!_ El demanded, gripping my arm, _What happened?!_

 _Edythe? What is it!?_

A very unladylike word slipped from between my teeth.

"Tell us!" El hissed out loud.

"He went to meet her," I breathed, staring fixedly, numbly, at the seat in front of me, "She has him."

Their alarmed reactions were horror-struck and immediate, though branching off into two different directions.

Carine, _How?_ She, of course, needed to know the semantics behind it.

 _Where_? El growled quietly. She was immediately fiercely protective.

I was frozen with terror. My teeth locked together, and I was afraid I would never unlock them again. They felt bonded by cement.

 _… corner of 58_ _th_ _and Cactus,_ Archie was thinking, his mental tenor frantic and ashamed, _Renee's house is just down the street. I'm waiting at the West exit. Black CTS-V._ Flickering roadmap pictures shuffled through his head… The airport exit, west on the I-10, Exit 147… I followed his directions, memorizing each turn as it came, all the way to the dance studio—the _dance studio!_ —on the corner of 58th and Cactus.

And then he began the whole spiel over again, not knowing if I was within hearing range of his thoughts yet.

"Archie has a car," I reiterated to my mother and sister after I'd memorized it all, "He's waiting at the west exit. Beau is meeting Joss at a dance studio on the corner of 58th and Cactus."

"We'll be right behind you," Eleanor said.

"How did she convince him to meet her?" Carine wanted to know.

"I don't know, I don't know." My head rocked back and forth mechanically. "She tricked him, somehow. I don't know…"

The wheels of the airplane touched down on the runway, and the humans bounced in their seats, heads wobbling. I was completely stiff, paralyzed. The moment the doors opened, I would be gone. I tensed in my seat as the pilot taxied toward the gate. Her thoughts were serene and casual, and she was in no rush at all.

"But how did he get away from Jessamine and Archie?" Eleanor prodded.

"I don't know!"

Finally, we were there. It took them a ridiculously long time to open the doors, but then the safety hatch disengaged, and I stood so quickly I wrenched the seatbelt clean from its moorings with a snap.

I moved down the aisle just a little too quickly. The thoughts around me registered with surprise and confusion. Most of them brushed my sudden appearance off as their own grogginess and inattention after a long day of travels. The flight attendant jumped when she turned and saw me over her shoulder. To her, I had quite literally appeared out of thin air.

With a polite smile, I slipped past her and moved down the concourse as fast as I dared. Eleanor and Carine were right behind me.

It was agonizing to move at the clip I was. I was forced to run at a quick human's pace through the terminals, though all I wanted to do was burst into motion—to push my legs as quickly as I could. Though no one would see me if I moved at full speed, I risked hurting someone in the jostling crowds around me.

I stepped onto the down going escalator and shouldered my way—gently—through the packed steps. People protested out loud, and some complained only in their minds, as I shoved past them. I hit the first level, where the groupings were coagulated even thicker here—gathered around the luggage carousels.

Finally, we made it through the automatic doors, and out into the balmy early morning of the desert. If I'd been in this unlikely place under any other circumstance, I would have taken a moment to revel in the wonderful balmy heat, to appreciate the spiny, barren vegetation around me, somehow beautiful in their naked shapes. I would have taken time to value the red dirt-sand, the pitch-black asphalt, the light beige structures. Above us, the sky was clear and wide and almost as blue as Beau's eyes, and under any other circumstance, I would have tipped my head back to examine it.

But this circumstance was not like any other, and so I did not take the time to notice these things. Instead, my eyes zeroed in immediately on the black Cadillac idling at the curb. Archie was in the driver's seat, Jess on the passenger side.

We dove inside, luckily sheltered by the deep shade of the awning, and Archie stomped on the gas pedal before the doors were closed, the peeling out tires echoing in the sandstone tunnel behind us.

Thank what god there might have been, Archie drove us through the bright desert city just as I would have if I'd been in the driver's seat. But I could not be hindered by the ridiculous notion of driving. Though it was agonizingly unbearable to sit back and let Archie take the wheel, in being the passenger, I would be able to exit the vehicle sooner, and get to Beau that much faster.

 _Please, please, please,_ I begged, _If there is a God,_ _ **please**_ _let me get there in time!_

"I saw that we might get separated," Archie was explaining, his words blurring together so fast that they tripped over one another. "So I was watching him carefully. I watched his every move, every muscle twitch, every inhalation…" His thoughts flickered briefly to me, apologetic once more, but I saw no point in chastising him. He was nearly as frantic for Beau's safety as I was.

"We caught Joss's scent outside the airport, and I thought she might make a grab for him, though the scent wasn't exactly fresh, but I was being extra vigilant. When he asked Jess to go with him to get breakfast, I started seeing it—the separation—but I assumed it would be a move on the tracker's part, _not_ on _his_!" The final words pushed through his locked teeth in a snarl of frustration. "Depending on the traffic, we'll get there in time. But we have to hurry!"

He pushed the car forward, taking to the shoulders or sidewalks to slip around vehicles in his way. He took to alleyways and the opposite route on one-way streets to bypass clogged traffic. We were forced to slow at inopportune moments, hindered by the presence of law enforcement, a part of the daily morning commute. It was _not_ the right time of morning for this.

But then, when _would_ the correct timing be?

As we raced through the far too expansive city, I compiled all the different ways I would torture Joss in my mind. It was no wonder I loathed what we were when creatures such as _she_ were a part of my species! I thought of the most agonizing ways to kill the tiny villain who wanted Beau dead, organizing each one in order of the greatest amount of agony.

While I compiled this list, another part of my very spacious mind was assembling another catalogue—a much shorter catalogue: My contingency plans, what I would do if I were… too late. If I did not arrive in time to save Beau, there was no question that I would not be able to go on without him. In the short time I'd known him, he'd changed me so completely, so irrevocably. My life was nothing if Beau did not exist. Our lives were tangled, inexorably, into one strand. If you cut one, you cut both.

I knew enough from Carine's own experiences that I would not succeed in ending my life by my own terms. It took a vampire to kill another vampire. _If_ I was too late to save Beau—and I was hoping with all I had that I would _not_ be too late—I hoped there was a chance that I could engage Joss in a fight, a battle where I would allow her to prevail. But I doubted my family would stand back long enough to allow that to happen. My sisters surely would not take my life for me—nor would they stand by and watch it happen.

The only option left, then, was to go to Sulpicia and the Volturi, and provoke them in some way. If I was not in time to save Beau, if, by the time we got there, he was already… departed, I would go to Italy.

The time to ponder such eventualities had come to an end, for we had come within a mile of them, and I could hear the mental atmosphere of the dance studio.

I could not hear Renee's mind in the vicinity. This did not bode well. There was a chance that her mind could be as reticent to me as Beau's was, but I did not think that was a likely possibility. Beau was the only being in my entire existence whose mind I could not hear whatsoever. Of course, I could not hear him now, but I _could_ hear Joss.

Her thoughts were undeniably malicious, wild with bloodlust and hard-fought restraint, but I did not focus on them. I skipped over that and funneled my hearing as we closed in on the address.

Hope bolted through me when I heard it—it was too fast, whether that was due to terror, agony or emotional heartbreak I didn't know, but it _was_ his heartbeat. I would have known it anywhere. He was alive! Beau was alive! However, I could hear only one heart pumping. Did that mean Joss had already done away with Renee? How would Beau handle losing his mother to this type of monstrosity?

"He's alive!" I gasped.

In the next instant, as Archie sped down the final roadway, there was a crunching, shattering, breaking sound. And then—worse than the breaking, worse than the shattering, I heard Beau scream.

I didn't realize that I was wailing too until Carine gripped my hand, her thoughts terrified. My choking yowling cut off with a whimpering moan.

"I'll _kill_ her!" I choked, nearly soundless.

"What the hell is _happening_?" Eleanor shouted.

"He's hurt—" I howled, "She's hurt him badly!"

Archie took the turn into the parking lot too sharply. We rose up on two wheels and then crashed back down. I was out the door then, sprinting across the parking lot toward the studio. I was screaming again, a harsh metallic screech of terror and fury and pain.

I did not take the time to pull open the front glass doors. I smashed right through, shoulder first, glass splintering everywhere.

I was beyond reason, beyond logical thought, beyond words, when I saw them at the other end of the long room. Beau, my sweet, _sweet_ Beau, was lying in a crumpled and broken heap.

The first thing I smelt was the wonderful aroma of his blood—too thick in the air. Also, I could detect the rancid odor of vomit. There was blood everywhere, seeping from his scalp, down his face and shoulder and arm, pooling in a dark, scarlet puddle underneath him. But it did not affect me in this very instant as I suspected it would have.

I crouched, lips pulling back from my teeth to release the menacing snarl of an attack roar. And then I launched myself at the slim vampire, who was, at this very moment, hurling herself at Beau.

We collided mid-air, the sound like granite smashing against granite. Glass shattered as I tangled my fingers in her hair and smashed her face into the wall of mirrors. The tiniest fissure appeared on the edge of her cheekbone, and she had the audacity to _grin_ at me. There was no fear in her eyes—there was only smug satisfaction, and the expression, as well as her thoughts, enraged me.

A furious shriek escaped my throat, and I turned her to face me. Her thoughts twisted and contorted, showing me the ways she'd tortured Beau with horrifying clarity. The snap and pop of his bones breaking, the strange hissing sound she'd heard, when his shattered rib had punctured his lung… The unadulterated fear in his eyes…

Beau cried out again.

 _We've got this!_ Eleanor was there, shoving me toward Beau's arcing, agony-gripped form. Jessamine had already trapped the tracker in a death grip, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Eleanor tear the tracker's head clean from her body.

Her thoughts cut off as her mind went deathly silent.

I went numb for one singular moment, and then I turned, flashing to Beau's side. "No!" The agony pierced me anew, turning my legs to rubber as I collapsed to my knees in the blood puddle beside his head. So _much_ blood—it was horrendous. His leg was twisted unnaturally, his right forearm out of line from the bicep. His skin was deathly pale, almost grey in pallor. His eyes were wild with pain as his agonized yowling gradually lost volume.

His breathing was rapid and weak, his heart tachycardic and brittle—his body was working too hard, and my distress proliferated.

"No, no, no, no!" Tearless sobs wracked through me as I scooped his frail, broken body up and held it to me, laid his head gently in my lap, and stroked his anguished, beautiful face. "Beau, please. Please, please, please, Beau, please!"

His screams had cut off with a strange sounding, groaning sigh. I could hear his lungs struggling to work, the air escaping through the punctures like popped balloons. His heart labored weakly, frail and frantic.

"Carine!" A terrified shriek escaped me. She was the only thing I could count on now to save his life. She was the best doctor in history—she would save him. She _would_! " _Help me_! Beau, please," I begged, frantically attempting to control the bleed in his scalp. The laceration was deep. I could see all the way to his skull. "Please, Beau, please!"

He was fading fast, awareness disintegrating from his face. Some light in his eyes went out, and they fluttered shut. What little strength remained in his lungs left, and he stopped breathing. His heart stuttered unevenly, sluggish and feeble. His lips turned a worrying shade of blue.

Undiluted terror lanced through me—horror like I'd never felt before. It wasn't just horror; it was pain and fear and heartbreak and shame and guilt and desperation, a tangled mass of negativity and hopelessness.

I leant over and pressed my lips to his, blowing softly. I heard his lungs fill and respond, and then I breathed for him once more.

I pulled back slightly, finding his eyes open, just barely. Through his lush, wet lashes, I could just barely see a splinter of blue.

"Keep breathing, Beau," I ordered him, hoping he was processing my words. "Do you hear me?! _Breathe_!"

I bowed forward and pushed another breath into his lungs, because he was _not doing as I asked_!

Carine kneeled down next to me, her mind immediately lapsing into assessment and inventory. She catalogued his injuries, one by one, ticking them off in her head. I tried not to pay attention to the tally.

"Archie, make splints for his leg and arm," she commanded, "Edythe, straighten his airways. Which is the worst bleed?"

"Here, Carine," I told her, moving my blood soaked hands away from his skull so she could assess the wound.

Beau began to whimper, and the sound shattered my heart into a million pieces. He was in pain, such pain, and it was entirely _my fault_!

"My bag, please," Carine requested of Archie. She glanced up at him momentarily; she saw the glint of restrained thirst in his eyes. I did not pay attention to his thoughts. I was in one agonized swirl, trapped with Beau. His life was my life. His pain was my pain. In this moment, there was nothing but him, and me, and the agony. "Hold your breath, Archie, it will help." Eleanor returned Carine's butane lighter. Vaguely I noted that Joss's pieces were burning now. "Thank you, Eleanor, now leave, please." She turned back to the task at hand. "He's lost blood, but the wounds aren't too deep. I think his ribs are the biggest problem now. Find me tape," she ordered Archie.

Beau's whining lengthened in rhythm, long agonized keening.

"Something for the pain," I hissed brokenly.

"There—" Carine nodded toward her bag, "I don't have hands. Will you?"

I reached forward, snatching the syringe from the kit.

"This will make it better," I promised him, and injected the pre-measured dose of morphine into the forgiving flesh of his unbroken arm.

Carine straightened out the bones in his leg so she could brace it, and I waited with bated breath, for his scream of agony. But he didn't respond.

"Edythe—" he rasped, his eyes fierce on my face. I wiped the blood from his eyes so he could see.

"Shh, Beau," I crooned soothingly, stroking his exquisite, tormented face, "It's going to be okay. I swear, it's going to be fine."

"E—" he wheezed, "It's—not—"

His suffering whispers faded; Carine beginning to suture the gaping head wound, and Archie gently pulling at his broken arm, so it could be braced, too, probably distracted him. I moaned in anguish.

Beau's shallow, winded breaths ceased once more.

"Hold on, Beau. _Please_ just hold on," I begged him through the dry heaving of my vampire tears.

He pulled in a rasping inhalation. He heaved a few labored breaths, cyanotic lips moving shakily, as if he were trying to speak. The words he breathed were jumbled and unintelligible.

"Can you understand him?" Carine asked. She didn't lift her eyes from his head, where she was still sewing.

I shook my head. "Just rest, Beau. Breathe," I urged. This was all he needed to worry about right now; he just needed to keep his heart beating, continue to breathe, and we would do our very best to take care of the rest.

"No—hand," he choked, "Edythe—right hand!"

I picked up his hand, examining it for some sort of overlooked injury—and then I found it. Barely identifiable, a single puncture wound on the tip of his finger, matted in sticky, half-dried blood, but I saw it for what it was, and the realization shook me to the core.

 _"No_!" I cried.

"Edythe?" Carine asked, perplexed.

"She bit him," I choked out with what air remained. I felt like my lungs had been crushed. My head swirled in sickening circles.

Carine gasped, and her mind went blank with shock. Her hands paused on the head wound, just momentarily.

"What do I do, Carine?" I begged.

She resumed her work.

 _I don't know that it will work—it might not—but there may be a chance that you can suck the venom back out, as one would with a snakebite. The wound is fairly clean. Can you do that?_

Did I have a choice? Would I go back on my word and end his life? _No._ I decided that I would reverse the damage Joss had done. She thought she'd fooled us, but I was strong enough for this. I needed to be. There was no other way—if Beau were to live a normal human life, I would have to succeed at this mountain of a task.

"Yes," I snapped through my teeth. I _had_ to. "I can try. Archie—scalpel."

Archie did not pass me the surgical tool. "There's a good chance you'll kill him yourself," he warned.

I had promised myself that if it took any measure of self-sacrifice to save Beau's life, I would gladly go through with it. This was more difficult, more tortuous a conquest, than I had ever imagined. But I _would_ prove Archie's vision wrong. I would not kill him—I would _save_ him.

But I could feel the venom pooling in my mouth, I could feel the hollow pang in my stomach as I reached forward and snatched the scalpel from Archie's hand.

" _Give it_ to me. I can _do_ this."

I gripped Beau's hand, slicing a fresh access point in the artery of his wrist. Beads of blood welled on the fresh wound, and my jaw ached. I lifted his hand, bowed my head, and pressed trembling lips to his skin.

The world focused into a fine-tipped point, and all of a sudden, I forgot what I was fighting for—forgot what I was doing. Dimly, in the back of my mind, someone screamed in agony. I didn't focus on that. For in this moment, I had tasted the sweetest of tastes I had ever experienced.

The flavor was ecstasy—it was _everything_.

I floated in the warm, electric sensation, locking my fingers around his wrist and pulling his hand more securely to my lips so that I could taste more of him.

The taste, the scent, the syrupy sweetness of him coated the inside of my mouth and the back of my throat with ambrosia.

Searing white heat overtook my vision, and I felt when my mind began to fracture into fragmented pieces.

His luscious blood was more potent a flavor than I ever could have imagined. The moist drink was a soothing balm on my desiccated throat. The flames were entirely extinguished in this moment.

I fell down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, its velvet confines swallowing me whole.

Lovely burgundy brocade, warm succulent bliss…

" _Edythe!"_ A faraway voice shouted, as if from a dream. Or maybe _I_ was in the dream, and this person was calling to me from the real world. I struggled to focus, knowing this voice was important, knowing the words he would say should mean something, but when I focused, _this_ experience dulled in sharpness.

 _No!_ I gripped this intimate moment closer, not wanting to lose it.

" _Look_!" the voice shouted, and something battered on the soft, flexible walls of my mind. Something sharp—a physical strike—but I didn't feel it, not really. It did not register, caught up in this stupor. I imagined my physical life could be done away with and I would not have noticed until this all-consuming experience was ripped from my hands.

" _Stop it, Edythe! Stop it now!_ " An image broke through the frontier of my mind, and at first glimpse, it didn't mean anything, but when I looked longer, I realized that I recognized the ghostly pale boy in the picture. He was broken and gnarled, bloody and gashed, and there was no life in him. And then, with a shock that was suddenly very icy in this very warm bubble, I saw myself, curled over the boy possessively, eyes demon-red. The boy was empty, and she had taken everything.

But firmer than this image, there was something else—a picture more concrete than the one currently taking place. How could this be? How could I be carrying out the warpath of the one ascertained vision, while this alternate option remained so much more obstinate?

The sharp planes of my lover's face—pearl and smooth. Blood-red newborn eyes, each angle of his body sharp and defined. Beau would curl forward, full lips pulling back over glistening sharp teeth, and the expression would be almost a grin, except for the silent snarl I knew would issue from between his teeth.

Never before had the image been clearer. Where before it might have been concrete—now it was unyielding, unbreaking titanium.

 _Always_ in the past, the visions had held some sort of indistinctiveness. Always there had been one or two other facets of the equation left unresolved. Always there had been other possibilities, no matter how faint they were.

But now, there was nothing else.

Either Beau died in my monstrous hands, or he became immortal.

My lips released from his skin, and I dropped his hand, gasping in shock.

"It's too late," Archie said to me, his eyes hard with resolve. "We got here too late."

"You can see it?" Carine's voice was quiet and subdued.

"There are only two futures left, Carine," Archie explained, but his eyes were on mine, "He survives as one of us, or Edythe kills him trying to stop it from happening."

" _No_." The word escaped my lips in an agonized moan. How cruel it was, to present me with a fate such as this one. To have formerly thought I would do anything, _anything,_ to keep him from becoming a vampire—and here, now, in this moment, the _only thing_ I could do that would prevent such a thing, was _kill him_. The only thing I could fathom less than Beau becoming one of us, was losing him altogether because of something I had done to him. I had been intent on protecting him from mortal dangers such as illness and accident and natural disaster. I had been intent, even, on protecting him from my own kind—from others who did not share our view on human life.

But the one thing I could bear less than the possibility of Beau never seeing the light of heaven he so deserved, was being shoved prematurely into death because of the monster inside of me.

I dropped my face to his, and kissed every inch of his gorgeous visage. His fluttering eyelids, his smooth cheeks, his full, cracking lips.

"I'm sorry, Beau," I sobbed, "I'm so sorry."

Would I ever forgive myself for this? _Could_ I?

"It doesn't need to be this slow," Archie griped. "Carine?"

"I made an oath, Archie," she reminded him. An oath that stated she could never bite a human again. An oath that stated, if she were to do so, the treaty between the Cullens and the Quileutes, would be broken.

" _I_ didn't," Archie snarled, and I heard him lean toward us. I still had my face near Beau's, breathing in his scent. It seared my throat, and I groaned in agony as I fought back the animal instinct inside me. I drank in every facet of him I could smell and see and touch, knowing this might be the last time I would be able to do so. I wanted to do that without fighting the urge to murder him.

"Wait, wait." I lifted my head, though it felt as heavy as a planet on my shoulders, as if I were a mere mortal. The words Carine had said to me in the forest only a day earlier returned. _But Beau has a choice in this, too. Ultimately, it is his life, his decision… What if he chooses this…? What if he's willing to risk everything…?_ I was reminded again that we had never had this discussion. It was hardly the place for it now, but in that moment, I did the weakest thing I could do. I hesitated.

How could it be that just hours ago I had been prepared to let him die rather than to chance the negative repercussions of something I wasn't even sure to be true? Carine was so decided on her viewpoint; I was so decided on mine. I had condoned the fact that she could be wrong all of these years, but I had never entertained the possibility that _I_ might be the one who was wrong. Couldn't it be that everything Carine believed for us was true? Was I really so immovable to risk the tiniest sliver of a chance, to weigh Beau's entire existence against that slim chance? The slim chance that I was right?

It might have been the most selfish thing I ever had done, and ever would do, but I was not willing to risk it.

But this was his choice. I would let him decide. I was prepared now, to barter this risk. I was prepared to chance it. I was not prepared for the alternative, if Beau so chose, but I would respect his wishes if they were as such. And then I would follow quickly after.

I leant down once more, putting my lips to his ear so he could hear me above his torturous groans.

"Beau? I won't make this decision for you. I won't take this away from you. And I'll understand, I promise, Beau. If you don't want to live like this, I won't fight you. I'll respect what you want. I know it's a horrible choice. I would give you any other option if I could. I would die if it meant I could give your life back to you." A sob hitched in my throat. "But I can't make that trade. I can't do _anything_ —except stop the pain. If that's what you want. You don't have to be _this_. I can let you go—if that's what you need. Tell me what you want, Beau. Anything." I was sobbing again.

"You," he gasped, "Just you."

Unreasonable relief and joy warred with the sharpness of self-hatred. "Are you _sure_?"

He moaned, his shoulders arching off the sodden wooden floor. "Just—let me stay—with you."

My eyes closed as the emotions washed through me. Of course, he was entirely unprepared for this. He didn't understand the full weight of the consequences. It was entirely selfish of me not to ensure he was fully briefed—but how could something like that be achieved in this instance?

In that moment, I accepted the fact that he may wake to his new life and hate me for this. He might resent me for taking away his humanity, but at least, at _least_ , he would go on existing. And even if he walked away from me, and lived the rest of his immortality without me, that would be enough. Because at least Beau Swan would live—in a twisted, convoluted way. I could not imagine a world where Beau did not exist.

"Out of my way, Edythe," Archie barked. He was prepared to make the change progress faster himself, but I was suddenly entirely sure.

"I didn't make any oaths, either," I snapped back.

I tipped Beau's chin up, very gently, in order to expose his throat to me, leaned down and pressed my teeth to his skin. They sunk in easily, effortlessly. When the blood touched my lips, my tongue, my throat this time, there was no responding head rush. There was no loss of self or downward swirl into oblivion. There was only pure, focused determination—an administration of venom to his jugular, and then each of his ulnar arteries, and then his fibular arteries at the ankles. I injected my venom into as many places as I could, because, if I could give him anything, anything at all worthwhile now, it would be to make the change occur as quickly as possible.

…

 **A/N:** … Phew! Intense, right?

Did you see where I took similar writing before and compared it? … I'll give you a hint—remember in the kitchen the morning after Beau and Edythe spent the night together, and their little experimentation resulting in Beau nearly passing out again, happened? Her little monologue in getting caught up in the sensations, the moment…? Do ya remember now?

I drew a parallel to that, because vampirism has always been a very seductive thing, and I thought it very appropriate to draw a counterpart between bodily lust and bloodlust. Because I think it applies.

Anyway—please, please let me know what you thought of this one, lovelies! I would very much appreciate the feedback! xo


	22. Forever

**A/N:** Happy Saturday!

A lot of you are really surprised at how quickly I'm updating, but that's only because I've been pre-writing for like 2 months! xD

Whoo… This is a big one, guys.

…

Beau's torturous, burning screams scarred me to the core. I was certain the sound of his pain would be etched into my brain for the rest of eternity. This was not something I would forget—for a number of reasons.

I was certain I would never experience anything worse than his screams of torture—until he asked me to kill him.

"Please!" he cried, "Edythe, please—just—just make it stop! It's all I want—I just want the burning to stop!"

I choked on the horrible sob, burying my face in his hair. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I breathed again and again.

"Please!" he shouted. "You have to kill me! Make it _stop_! Make the burning stop!"

Archie laid a hand on my back. "Everyone else said the same thing," he reminded me softly, "You begged for Carine to kill you, too. Remember? His first decision is the one that counts."

" _Shut up_!" Beau screeched at him.

"Sorry."

"It's time to move," Carine murmured. She'd repacked her supplies into her black doctor's bag—the sutures and tape and morphine were no longer of any use. The venom would burn through his veins and heal any bones that had been broken, any organs that had been pierced, every laceration, and every bruise. And though the morphine might have been of any use if it had gotten into his system in time, it was impotent now. Carine had attempted to dose Eleanor with enough morphine to dull the pain of the transformation, but much like Beau now, the venom had burned ahead of the medication and sealed off the veins.

The pyre that burned Joss's remains was growing, catching around us. Soon, this dance studio would go up in flames, and there would be nothing left for the police to investigate. When a vampire's body burned, there would be no remaining carcass left over. The most they would find of Joss's remains was fine, lavender ash. Entirely indiscernible.

We collected the video camera Joss had been holding when we'd arrived and took that with us as well. I had no idea what she'd been planning to do with the resulting video, and I wasn't sure I really wanted to know. We also took with us the home videos Joss had lured Beau with. It was obvious the tracker had been smarter than anyone could have given her credit for. Lauren had been right to warn us.

Outside, Eleanor and Jessamine had also doused the stolen car in gasoline, and its destroying fire was already burning.

Another plus to being a vampire—there was no way to track us down for our crimes, as we left no fingerprints.

Across the lot, Eleanor and Jess had left Carine's darkly tinted Mercedes—retrieved from the bowels of Sky Harbor International's parking garage. The keys were in the ignition, ready for us. They had taken to the craggy red mountains on foot, to traverse back through the wilderness. They would not be strong enough to sit in the car with us and withstand the pull of Beau's injuries—which would soon heal, but I wasn't going to risk it.

He'd made his choice—and I was hell bent on doing everything to see that choice through, despite his pleading for me to kill him.

Eleanor and Jessamine would collect the Jeep from where we'd abandoned it close to Forks, and they would meet us at home.

Carine swung herself into the driver's seat. Archie slipped into the back with me and Beau.

I cradled him close to my chest, keeping his face near mine, a hand against his cheek. He groaned lowly now, the muted sounds of agony escaping through his clenched teeth, and I tried to soothe him, stroking his face, singing his lullaby, crooning words of encouragement and comfort.

We stopped in Las Vegas to refill the gas tank, and Beau recoiled from the flash of light when Carine opened the door to step out.

"Shh," I mollified him, "We're just stopping to refill the gas tank. We'll be home soon, Beau. You're doing so well. This will be over soon. I am so sorry."

He thrashed a bit as I stroked his visage, hands flailing in the general direction of my fingers on his skin. I knew what this was like—the lack of sensation, the strange sensory deprivation amidst the sensory overload of the fiery venom. I caught his warbling hand and kissed it. His hand wrapped around mine tightly. His skin was cooler to the touch than it had been before, but still warm. Also, it was taking on the subtle pearl smoothness of vampire skin.

I wondered how far along he was now, and when this would be over. I longed for the moment as much as I dreaded it. When he opened his eyes to this new life, would he hate me? He wasn't acting like it now, squeezing my hand tighter than he'd ever been able to before, as the grating, agonized moans slid out through his locked jaw… But I couldn't be sure. People did all sorts of out of character things when they were in pain. I was closest to him. He could have simply been leaning on me for support because I was convenient. I wouldn't be sure of his true feelings until the transformation was finished.

If there had been a hope for me before all of this—however slim a chance there'd been—there must have been a rising tally against such a thing, now. How could the Master of the universe declare me any kind of worthy, when I'd damned Beau to an existence such as this one—had stolen away his purity, his virtue, his warm, soft fragility? For the rest of my life, I would be struggling toward some kind of absolution, some remedy to this horrible breach of morality.

I was a monster for subjecting him to this horrendous half-life. My worst nightmares were coming true beneath my very hands, and not only was I helpless to stop them, but I had aided them in their fruition.

I truly was a soulless monster…

Beau began to panic again as Carine got back behind the wheel and pulled out of the small gas station. He seemed calmer when I spoke to him and stroked his skin—though I doubted that, at this point, he would feel much of it.

"I'm right here, Beau," I assured him, "You're not alone. I won't leave you. I will be here. Listen to my voice. I'm here with you, you'll be okay. You're doing so well, so well. It'll all be over soon…"

He didn't scream now. He breathed shallowly through locked teeth. I was astonished by the amazing amount of restraint he seemed able to show.

The self-loathing overcame me once more. There was nothing I could do now to change any of this. I could not alter the course of destruction and change what had already begun, and never had I felt more regret in my existence. I loved Beau with all that I was, truly I did, but my own selfishness had destroyed him—truly, it had.

In this moment, I wondered which force was stronger of the two inside me: selfishness, or love. I thought I knew.

If I had truly been strong enough to love him in a way that was legitimate enough to spare him, I never would have let things get as far as they had. If only I'd been stronger!

My breath hitched in my throat, catching on another self-flagellating sob. "I never wanted this for you, Beau. I would give anything to take this away. I've made so many mistakes. I should have stayed away from you, from the first day. I should never have come back again. I've destroyed your life, I've taken everything from you…" The wracking sobs overcame me again.

I was so, _so_ weak. So many times I'd had the opportunity to make Beau safe—and so many times, I'd ignored what was right and moral and had forged ahead for the sake of my own self-interest, too weak to stop myself. I would do anything, _anything_ now, to change all of that. I would have wandered in isolation for the rest of my existence if that was what it had taken to turn myself from Beau, so that he could have lived a normal human life. I would have separated myself from my family, doomed myself to a subsistence of loneliness and heartbreak and agonizing pain, if that was what it had taken to keep myself from him.

I would take the cessation of existence entirely, if I could give Beau his life back.

A word shaped breath exited Beau's mouth. It sounded like ' _No_ '.

"He's probably far enough along that he'll remember this," Archie murmured, only speaking aloud for Beau's benefit. _It shouldn't be too much longer. See how clear he's becoming? He's going to be perfectly fine._

"I hope so," I whispered.

"I'm just saying," Archie added, "You might use the time more productively. There is so much he doesn't know."

"You're right, you're right… Where do I begin?" There was so _much_ that he needed to be made aware of, and my mind swirled.

"You could explain about being thirsty," Archie suggested. "That was the hardest part, when I first woke up. And we'll be expecting a lot from him."

My voice whipped out, low and harsh, "I won't hold him to that. He didn't choose this. He's free to become whatever he wants to be."

Archie snorted. "You know him better than that, Edythe. The other way won't be good enough for him. Do you see?" He showed me the image of newborn Beau, racing through the Olympic forest, blood red eyes focused and blazing, vaulting into a small clearing, lurching for an enormous stag… "He'll be fine."

I watched the vision play out, the supine grace with which he would move. His savage eyes would be fierce, yes, but there would be something in them I'd never seen before—a confidence, and a joy that was unavoidable… But that was impossible. I had to be imagining things. The joy had to be in direct correlation with the hunt. It would be purely his hunting instincts…

For a singular moment, I allowed myself to imagine what life would be like if Beau did not despise me for the way I'd obliterated him. If he did not hate me for taking his life from him, for taking him away from Charlie and his mother, who he would never be allowed to see again, for stealing all chance of ethical and spiritual reward… If he could _possibly_ see past any of that, push any of that aside… Could we be happy together?

I was reminded again of my own selfishness… If Beau did not hate me, this transformation would be the definite best thing that had ever happened to me—aside from meeting him, of course. We could have forever together…

But I shook the thought off. He would never forgive me. He would never want anything more to do with me when he woke to this new half-life. He _surely_ would hate me.

I was contemplative for long enough that Beau began to panic again.

"I'm here, Beau, I'm here," I promised him, stroking his hair back. "Don't be afraid…" I drew a breath to refocus myself on the task at hand. There was so much information I needed to relay. "I'll keep talking. There are so many things to tell you. The first one is that when this passes, when you're… new, you won't be exactly the same as I am, not in the very beginning. Being a young vampire means certain things, and the hardest to ignore is the thirst. You'll be thirsty—all the time. You won't be able to think about much else for a while. Maybe a year, maybe two. It's different for everyone. As soon as this is over, I'll take you hunting. You wanted to see that, didn't you? We'll bring Eleanor so you can see her bear impression…" Somehow, I could see it, my sister playing up her antics to impress her new little brother… A feeble, quiet laugh slipped from my lips, just a single note. "If you decide—if you want to live like us, it will be hard. Especially in the beginning. It might be too hard, and I understand that. We all do." If he chose to go about the traditional way of taking sustenance, I wanted to be sure he would feel no judgment or guilt in his choice. "If you want to try it my way, I'll go with you. I can tell you who the human monsters are. There are options." I wanted him to have as much choice in this new life as was possible. I would give him what was left of the world; I would lay it at his feet. I would spend eternity making this up to him. Of course, I'd stolen the only thing he likely _really_ wanted, and I couldn't give that back, but I vowed to spend every day of the rest of forever giving him anything else he asked for… Even if he wanted to leave me. "If… if you don't want me with you, I'll understand that, too, Beau. I swear I won't follow you if you tell me not to—"

"No," he rasped.

I patted his hand. "You don't have to make any more decisions now. There's time for that. Just know that I will respect any decision you make." I drew another inhalation when my thoughts took me to the next point. I didn't know why, but the realization sent a sharp stab of agony through me. "I should probably warn you about your eyes. They won't be blue anymore." I tried to bite back the heartbroken sob, but I couldn't. "But don't let them frighten you. They won't stay so bright for long.

I suppose that's a very small thing, though…" These moments were not about my own disappointment or heartbreak, and I shook the focus off of myself. "I should focus on the most important things. The hard things—the very worst thing." I bit down on my lower lip for just a moment, knowing how this would torture him, knowing he did not deserve the agony of it on top of the agony of all agonies, but I worried that if I did not tell him now, and I saved it for when he was new, his anger would endanger him, might cause him undue stress and strife. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Beau. You can't see your father or mother again. It's not safe. You would hurt them—you wouldn't be able to help yourself. And… there are rules. Rules that, as your creator, I'm bound by. We'd both be held responsible if you ran out of control. Oh—" I stopped, my breath catching. "There's so much he doesn't know, Archie."

Again, my head felt woozy and light. The mountains of information I would need to share with him overwhelmed me. There was so much he was unaware of, so much I wished I never would have needed to tell him…

"We've got time, Edythe," Archie reminded me, putting a hand on my shoulder, "Just relax. Take it slow."

 _How about the rules?_ he suggested.

I nodded and took another breath. "The rules," I repeated. "One rule with a thousand different permutations—the reality of vampires must be kept secret. That means newborn vampires must be controlled. I will teach you—I'll keep you safe, I promise." And then I sighed, my heart fracturing once more. How many times had I said this to him while he was still alive and well and human? I had broken this promise in the very worst way—in the only way that mattered, on this day. "And you can't tell anyone what you are. I broke that rule. I didn't think it could hurt you—that anyone would ever find out. I should have known that just being near you would eventually destroy you. I should have known I would ruin your life—that I was lying to myself about any other path being possible. I've done everything wrong—"

"You're letting self-castigation get in the way of information again, Edythe," Archie interrupted me. He squeezed my shoulder. _It's really going to be fine,_ he placated me, _Don't worry._

But it was a useless mollification. "Right, right." I reoriented myself once more. "Beau. Do you remember the painting in Carine's study—the nighttime patrons of the arts I told you about?" I didn't pause for his answer. "They're called the Volturi—they are… for the lack of a better word, the police of our world. I'll tell you more about them in a bit—you just need to know that they exist, so that I can explain why you can't tell Charlie or your mother where you are. You can't talk to them again, Beau." The stress of the entire situation had my voice coiling tighter and tighter, like an elastic band stretched too tight, about to snap. "It's best—" No, it was _not_ best. Quickly, I rephrased my words. "We don't have much choice but to let them think you're dead. I'm so sorry. You didn't even get to say goodbye. It's not fair!"

The shame and guilt and despair overcame me once more, and I drowned for a long time in the ocean of pain.

"Why don't you go back to the Volturi?" Archie finally said, and my head broke free of the black, churning waters. "Keep emotion out of it."

"You're right," I breathed. "Ready to learn a new world history, Beau?"

I talked all through the night, watching the subtle changes take root in his face and body as we careened across the states, flying toward home.

As I regaled him with the vampiric history lessons that sounded more like dark fairy tales, I watched the transformation emerge. It happened slowly, but surely. The first thing to change was that his wounds healed, evaporating like magic. Beneath my hands, his skin was altering—growing cooler and harder. It would not be long before the weakness of his human body entirely left him.

I stroked his hair, his face, his lips. I held his hand, and as I told him our history, our stories, as I sang soothingly to him, I apologized silently, over and over and over again.

 _I'm so sorry, my love. I never wanted this for you. I'm so sorry…_

.

And then, in between all the stories and lessons and my quiet serenading, Beau's heart began to beat impossibly faster. A living, thriving human would not have been able to handle the tachycardic rhythm his heart was playing. A human heart would rupture under the stress.

I knew what this meant. I recalled this part, how the fire, though beginning to recede from my fingertips and toes, had burned even hotter in my chest—how I hadn't believed I could ever feel anything hotter than the throes of the fire I'd writhed in for days already. Relief came over me. It was almost over now. And then, in the next instant, I was suddenly pinned with fear.

This was it, and I braced myself.

We were home now, all gathered in the sitting room. Beau and I were situated on the couch, his head on a pillow in my lap. Archie had brought a clean shirt for him, and clean clothes for me, as well.

 _He can change his pants later,_ he acquiesced. _It's just a few drops._

I hadn't really paid his inner thoughts much mind.

"Carine," I called now.

She came into the room then, and listened momentarily. "Ah," she said, "It's almost over."

Beau stared uncomprehendingly up into my face, from where his head rested on the pillow in my lap. I forced myself to stare at what I'd created—his luminous, pale skin, the blood-red eyes, the embellished, beautiful form of his visage. I had been so worried and distraught over the physical aspect of his change—so worried that everything I'd recognized about him would be stolen by the transformation—but I was surprised to find that, other than his eyes, he was as perfect as he'd always been. It was true, the angles and planes of his face were more exaggerated than they had been, but I was pleased to find that, rather than becoming unrecognizable or different, he was still very much the same Beau I'd fallen in love with. His eyes, though an entirely different color—and I would always, _always_ miss the blue—were the exact same shape. His prominent, sculpted cheekbones were the same, and the beauty of them was merely, somehow, pronounced. The strong line of his nose was the same, as well as the contour of his jaw. The same slight imbalance to his lips was there, the top fractionally out of balance with the bottom, but they looked silkier now, smoother, and I knew they would no longer give under my own—if he ever wanted to kiss me again.

I was sure, as well, that if he smiled, I would still be able to make out the dimple in his chin.

Pleasure overwhelmed me, just momentarily, when I realized that he really hadn't changed so much.

"Edythe?" he rasped.

"You're all right, Beau," I assured him. "It's ending. I'm sorry, I know. I remember."

The rest of my family gathered in the front room with us, leaving their various pastimes, their thoughts a varying chorus of anticipation, nervousness and relief.

Earnest was glad his suffering was nearly over. He looked forward to the liberty of our relationship now, the freedom he thought we would have. There would be no more danger, and no more obstacles. And though he knew Beau would have pain to overcome, he was happy for us. I could not pay Earnest's thoughts much attention, because I did not believe we would have that future now, not after what I'd done to him, not after all that I'd stolen.

Carine, Eleanor, Archie and Jess were also relieved that his pain was ending.

Eleanor moved decisively to stand directly behind the couch, her hand on my shoulder. She would be there to restrain him as best she could if he were suddenly overwhelmed, which was wont to happen with a newborn. Something twisted in my stomach when I thought about all of the heartbreak he would be met with in this new life.

Jessamine stayed in the doorway, standing still as a sentry, prepared to back El up if Beau got past her. She remembered the overwhelming disorientation, the confusion, the sensory overload of her new life. She remembered how powerful it had felt to run and leap and glide. She was prepared for Beau to try to escape. She knew how reflexive fear and misery could be.

Royal hung back behind Jessamine. He was angry, tremendously so, but I was shocked to find the tenor of compassion in his thoughts. Royal had never wanted this desolate, immortal life for himself. He knew it had been forced upon Beau in nearly the same way it had been forced upon him. He didn't think he'd stay. He assumed he'd be angry with me, that he'd feel betrayed. If Beau managed to avoid both Eleanor and Jessamine, he would not stop him.

Beau cried out softly.

The sound of his heartbeat raged on, racing toward the end. I focused on the sound, though the rhythm was entirely new to me, knowing these were the last moments that I would ever be able to listen to those tympanic pulses. A lump rose in my throat, and I said my farewells to the final vestige of his human life. Losing the striking swirl of blue in his eyes had been awful, but to listen to the stuttering final beats of his heart was worse…

Without warning, his body bowed, his back arching, as if a puppet master were pulling a central cord. Then he slumped back onto the couch and did not move. His eyes were wild and frenzied with the heat raging through his heart—it couldn't possibly sustain this rapid hammering for much longer.

There was one more thump, a hollow echo, and then his heart ceased to function. The sound that I had become so familiar with over these past few weeks, the sound that had proclaimed his humanity, his fragility, the one that singled him out in a gathering, was gone now. Without it, and without the ability to hear his mind, he was utterly, completely silent to me. These eyes of his, the ones that were so new and savage, were harder to read than the ocean of his human eyes had been—and those had been difficult enough.

Now, in the hushed stillness, he stared without expression up into my face. He was completely motionless.

I held my breath, as did the remainder of my family, in wary anticipation. I did not unlock my eyes from Beau's. He was like a statue, and I wondered, with frustrating potency, what he was _thinking_.

"Beau?" I breathed. He didn't respond. His eyes and face were blank—most likely he was astounded by all that was new to him. I knew my voice must sound different to him now, as well as the appearance of my face. His new, stronger eyes would be able to process things that he hadn't been able to see before. He would be able to feel every whisper of air on his skin, he would be able to detect every scent in the air. His hearing, as well, had improved beyond possible proportions.

"It's disorienting, I know. You get used to it."

And then his lips parted. "Edythe?" His voice rang out with the clarity of a bell, the perfect bass timber of an arpeggio, the smooth, seductive opus of succulent velvet. The shock of my name spoken in his lovely new voice left me stunned, wordless with astonishment. I had never heard anything so beautiful, and my stomach clenched.

In the next instant, Beau's hand snapped up in a move that was indiscernible, to touch my cheek. The caress was so sudden and so powerful that I knew he would have bruised me if I'd been human. I half expected a fissure to snake along my cheekbone.

"Huh," he breathed, not having realized his own strength.

I inclined my face into his smooth caress, and automatically lifted my hand to hold his there. This gesture of affection was familiar, though the place of contact where his skin touched mine was different. There was no longer any stifling heat between his hands and my skin. We were exactly the same temperature now, but I was surprised to feel that he _was_ still warm, in a new and fascinating way.

For a singular moment, I allowed myself to feel his touch and only his touch. I did not think about the coming consequences. I did not allow myself to imagine that this night—and maybe not even in its entirety—would be the last night I would spend with him.

A small, strangled sound escaped his throat now, and I felt his body stiffen in some sort of surprised response. His hand, where it rested against my cheek, froze.

"What is it, Beau?" I asked, concerned. I leaned closer, wishing desperately that I could read whatever imperceptible emotion I could not comprehend in his eyes. I had hoped, with no small amount of eagerness, that I would be able to read his thoughts once his psyche and physicality were more similar to my own, but his mind was just as silent as ever, and now that I could not hope to garner any information from the former human responses of his body, I was left adrift and entirely clueless.

"The eyes?" he whispered.

I exhaled in understanding, and made a face, remembering the first time I'd seen my own reflection. He must have seen his in the mirror of my eyes. "It goes away. I terrified myself every time I looked in a mirror for six months."

"Six months," he repeated lowly, "And then they'll be gold like yours?"

I didn't know how to answer this question, so I looked over at Carine, who stood only a few feet away.

"That depends on your diet, Beau," she told him softly, "If you hunt like we do, your eyes will eventually turn this color. If not, your eyes will look like Lauren's did."

Beau snapped instantly into a sitting position, his hand falling from my face. But I could not bear to let him go. It was selfish of me, but I kept his hand in mine, for as long as he would allow it.

His eyes flickered to each member of my family who stood with us, and then back to Carine's face. "No," he said, "I want to do it your way. That's the right thing to do."

Carine smiled at him. "If only it were so easy. But that's a noble choice. We'll help you all we can."

I laid a hand on his arm, shocked by the odd electric sensation that coursed through me when I touched him. This sensation, too, had been heightened by his transformation. "We should hunt now, Beau," I said to him, surprised at the strength of his restraint. How could he focus on anything else right now— _especially_ the techniques of hunting? "It will make your throat hurt less."

Something flickered in his eyes—thirst, I saw this emotion clearly—and he swallowed hard. But _still_ he hesitated! "Hunt? I, uh, well, I've never been hunting before. Not even like normal hunting with rifles, so I don't really think I could… I mean, I have no idea how…"

Eleanor chuckled. _Is this kid for real?_ Man _, he's hilarious!_

I smiled at her humor. "I'll show you," I assured him, "It's very easy, very natural. Didn't you want to see me hunt?"

"Just us?"

Immediate confusion coursed through me, and then I realized that he must want to be alone so he could berate me for the way I'd destroyed him. He didn't want to yell at me in front of my family, and all of it made sense suddenly—the touching, the cordiality…

Carefully, I masked my expression. "Of course. Whatever you want. Come with me, Beau."

 _Edythe, I don't think it's a good idea to go alone…_

 _I can tag along. It's no big deal. Don't you want someone else there if…?_

But I tuned my sisters' thoughts out as I jumped to my feet, my hand still in Beau's. He could easily wrench his from mine, but he held on. I suspected this was due to the formality he was upholding. He must not want to embarrass me in front of my family, and I appreciated that.

He bounded up immediately after me. I led him around the couch, dashing for the glass back doors.

But he pulled me to a sudden halt, and when I glanced back at him, he was staring into the reflective surface the south glass wall made. Outside, it was dark, and the lights from inside the house made the windows as smooth as a mirror.

I remembered how much room I'd suddenly found inside my head as a newborn, how easily I'd been distracted… I stood beside him and watched him stare at his new body in the mirror. It was difficult to decipher his reaction to his new appearance. I funneled in to Jessamine's mind, so I could interpret his mood through her filter. His attitudes seemed to flow from shock, to pleasure, to distress, back to disorientation.

Jess braced herself, and El did too, in response. They prepared to contain him.

But all he said was, "Whoa."

He captured my eyes with his in the reflection.

"It's a lot," I acknowledged.

He took a deep breath and nodded. Jessamine felt his tensed mood retract immediately, and it baffled her. "Okay," he said, entirely self-possessed now.

 _How does he do that?!_ she puzzled. _At any rate, it won't last for long. You'd better go._ Part of her internal discourse was sullen, but I didn't take the time to unearth the reason behind it.

I pulled on Beau's hand again, realizing that no longer was I able to drag him along behind me as I'd formerly done. He held his own against me now, and I was surprised by the pleasure and desire that flooded through me at the realization. If, by some enormous miracle, he accepted this new life and wanted to spend it with me, even after all that I'd done, there would be no more reason to be careful.

I led Beau out onto the sloping back lawn. The clouds were too thick tonight to make out the moon or stars, but despite their impermeable cover, we could see our surroundings clearly.

" _Whoa_ ," Beau gasped, "That is _so_ cool."

I glanced at him in surprise. For someone who was about to castigate me, he was surprisingly composed.

"We're going to have to go a ways out into the woods," I said to him, and, in partial, to my family, who were watching from the back windows. Earnest was concerned, unsure if I could handle a newborn's unpredictable ways by myself. It took all of Eleanor's restraint to stay where she was, and not follow us. She, too, did not think I would be able to contain him, if something were to go wrong.

It was probably true. For months, Beau would be stronger than anyone else in the family. Even El, with her super strength, would have a hard time restraining him.

But I didn't want them to be here for this.

"Right. So there aren't any people around," Beau recalled now, "Got it."

Another jolt of wary surprise flashed through me. We were alone now. What was with him keeping up the polite charade? He must have not felt comfortable dropping the mask while we were still so close to the house…?

"Follow me." I turned and zipped down the yard toward the river. I planted my back foot and pushed off, soaring through the air over the body of water, and landed amongst the trees beyond.

"Really?" Beau called after me.

I laughed. "I promise, it's easy," I responded.

He hesitated for a moment, and then I heard him sigh. I slid forward so I could see him through the trees. And then he began to run toward the river. I was stunned by the easy grace with which he moved. It was clear that his awkward clumsiness had burned away with every other indication of his human frailty. I paralleled a thousand different comparisons in my mind for the way in which he moved—as sinuous as a lion, lissome as a stag, smooth as a serpent in water, as undulating as a panther stalking his prey, as dexterous as a lynx…—no comparison did his motions justice.

In the same way as I had done, he planted his foot against the flat boulder on the embankment of the river—fracturing it in half as he pushed off—and he soared over the river, as regal and graceful as an eagle. I felt a sudden note of anxiety as I watched him fly over the fifty-foot wide expanse. The raw power in his new legs had sent him vaulting twice the distance necessary, and he would be landing in the forest beyond me, where I had not yet scouted. He may damage the trees, or scent something—possibly a human—and be off before I could reach him.

I turned and sprinted through the trees so I could catch up with him.

The sound of his landing was nearly silent, and I was appalled. He had taken down no trees, had caused no resulting destruction to the forest around him. I was absolutely astounded by his composition and skill. He was an absolute natural!

"Holy crow," I heard him whisper.

When I reached him he wheeled toward me and said, "We have to do that again!"

His tone was so undeniably enthusiastic. There was a strange, exhilarated light in his eyes. I could detect no hint of his had-to-be unbearable thirst, no resentment, fury or betrayal. There was nothing in his expression except eagerness and the realization of the fresh supremacy of his newborn abilities. I stared, dumbstruck, and entirely, devastatingly confused.

He laughed, and under any other circumstance, the sound would have blown me away. He sounded so wholly, beautifully… _happy_ —unbridled, even. "What do you want to know?" he asked, "I'll tell you what I'm thinking."

I felt the corners of my lips pull down. "I don't understand," I admitted, "You're… in a very good mood."

"Oh," he said, his smile fading. "Is that wrong?"

No, not wrong—but contrary to what any of us had formerly believed about or suspected of a newborn before… "Aren't you incredibly _thirsty_?" I asked him.

I saw the muscles in his throat convulse unconsciously. "Yes," he said, "When I think about it."

 _Think about it?_ Ah. And then I realized. The thirst must come as secondhand to the other painful matters on his mind. I prepared myself for the shouting, the despair, and the absolutely justified anger.

"If you want to do this first, that's fine, too."

But he only stared at me blankly. "Do this? Do what?" he asked tonelessly.

I stared at him skeptically. Why was he playing this game? Knowing it was a wasted effort, once again, I probed the titanium boundaries of his mind. I was not surprised when I gained no access, but nevertheless, disappointment flooded me.

I threw my hands up, surrendering. "You know, I really thought that when your mind was more similar to mine, I'd be able to hear it. I guess that's never going to happen."

"Sorry," he said.

I laughed, a hard note of disbelief. So _that_ hadn't changed. Still apologizing for absolutely unnecessary occurrences! Never before had he ever had reason to be _less_ apologetic than he had reason to now!

"Honestly, Beau."

His expression remained vacant, as if, truly, he had nothing to say to me. "Can you please give me a clue as to what we're talking about?" he asked.

 _What?!_ I had never been so thrown in my life.

"You wanted us to be alone," I reminded him.

"Uh, yeah," he said.

"Because you had some things you wanted to say to me…?" I hinted, and reflexively, I tensed again, fortifying myself against the onslaught.

Was this his ploy? Did he really want me to do all the talking—to admit every wrong, to confess every sin? Was this his way of punishing me?

"Oh. Well, I guess there are things to say. I mean, there's one important thing, but I wasn't thinking about that." I waited, wild with maddening bewilderment. "I wanted to be alone with you because… well, I didn't want to be rude" _As I'd suspected_ "but I also didn't want to do this hunting thing in front of Eleanor." As I had _not_ suspected…! "I figured," he continued as I went numb with shock, "there was a good chance I would screw something up, and I don't know Eleanor all that well yet, but I have a feeling she would find that pretty funny."

I felt frozen with disbelief. "You were afraid Eleanor would laugh at you? Really, that's all?" I couldn't quite bring myself to believe it, and the wary caution remained. I was still awaiting his wrath.

"Really," he confirmed. "Your turn, Edythe. What did you think was happening?"

I paused, humiliation sinking in. "I thought… you were being a gentleman. I thought you preferred to yell at me alone rather than in front of my family."

He went as still as a statue, his own shock pinning him to the spot. "Yell at you? Edythe—oh!" he recalled, "You're talking about all that stuff you were saying in the car, right? Sorry about that," he apologized, "I…"

Suddenly, _I_ felt like the newborn. The frustration exploded out of me. " _Sorry_?! What _on earth_ are you apologizing for now, Beau Swan?!"

He shrugged. "I wanted to tell you then, but I couldn't. I mean, I couldn't even really concentrate—"

"Of _course_ you couldn't concentrate—!" I interrupted him.

"Edythe!" he barked, and I went silent, suddenly cautious. He closed the space between us and put his hands on my shoulders. His hands pressed just a little too hard, but I couldn't move. "You'll never know what I'm thinking if you keep interrupting me."

Right. He was right. Of course he was. I forced myself to calm down, and then nodded at him to continue.

"Okay. In the car—I wanted to tell you then that you didn't need to apologize, I felt horrible that you were so sad." _He_ felt horrible for _my_ suffering?! "This isn't your fault—"

Of _course_ this was my fault! Every insignificant facet of it was my fault, and I started to say so, but he put his finger on my lips, halting my protestations.

"And it isn't all bad." _Isn't. All. Bad?_ This time I couldn't speak. "I'm… well, my head is still spinning" _Mine, too._ "and I know there are a million things to think about and I'm sad, of course, but I'm also good, Edythe. I'm always good when I'm with you."

I could only gape at him for a very long moment. _It isn't all bad… I'm sad, of course… I'm always good when I'm with you…_

It took me a very long moment to process his words. The impossibility of all of this was so entirely overwhelming. He wasn't reacting in the way I thought he would have—under completely acceptable sanctions, by the way. How was it possible that he was not angry with me? My mind twisted and whirled as everything shifted and warbled. Was it possible that he was _not_ angry… That he did _not_ resent me for what I'd done to him…? I couldn't quite make myself trust it.

I reached up to pull his finger away from my lips. He let me, though I knew he could have easily resisted.

"You aren't angry at me for what I've done to you?" I needed to ask the question outright, because I didn't know if I could truly comprehend the turn our conversation had taken if I didn't.

"Edythe, you saved my life! Again. Why would I be angry? Because of the _way_ you saved it? What else could you have done?"

 _What else could I have done_? He was acting like the circumstances that had led to his death and damnation had been completely unavoidable! Of course they hadn't been! There had been a million other options. For one, I could have been stronger. I had let my weakness rule too many times. I could have left that first day and never turned back! I could have left him while he was still human—there had been opportunities enough! I should have turned my back on him the minute that first near-blunder had occurred! I never should have taken him to the meadow. I never should have kissed him. I never should have stayed the night—or any of the nights before that, for that matter—I never should have taken him to meet my family, never should have told him our stories and lore, and I _never_ should have taken him to that _damned_ baseball game! I never should have separated myself from him, when I'd known it was the blackest kind of wrong, but I never would have needed to guard his life like that if I'd never come back that first day…

I huffed in frustration. "How can you…?" I trailed off, distracted by the swarming, incomprehensible, whirling blur of my thoughts. "Beau, you _have_ to see that this is all my fault." I didn't want to do this—I didn't want to point out all my faults, because truly, he was not mad in this instant. But surely, he would be, once I made all the reasons clear to him—reasons he maybe hadn't thought of yet. "I haven't saved your life, Beau, I've taken it from you. Charlie—Renee—"

Again, he put his finger over my mouth to stop me from talking. I stared at him, breathing in his scent. It was Beau, the way it always had been—the scent of his skin, the aroma of his hair… But the piercing, burning scent of his blood was gone. I was surprised that he was just exactly the same, all except for the horrible temptation of his blood. I had expected to miss more of the things this new half-life had stolen from him.

"Yes," he said. "It's hard, and it's going to be hard for a long time. Maybe forever, right? But why would I put that on you? Joss is the one who… well, who killed me. You brought me back to life."

No. He was missing the point. I pushed his hand away. "If I hadn't involved you in my world—"

He interjected my words with a laugh. I was stunned, completely thrown. Why was he _laughing_ right now?! Was mental instability something that could carry over from human life to immortal life? Was that why his feeding priorities were so convoluted?

"Edythe—if you hadn't involved me in your world, Charlie and Renee would have lost me three months earlier."

I only stared at him, scowling. That absolutely was not a sure thing. It was very likely that he would have been hurt, but it was also very likely that the hospital staff would have treated him very capably, and he would have gone on to lead a normal, human life. What was a sure thing, was that if I had been there in the parking lot—and had come back when I shouldn't have—and I had stood by and allowed the accident to happen, there was absolutely no doubt that I would have thoroughly destroyed any chance of survival he might have had.

Why couldn't he see that I had done everything _wrong?_ I had taken so much from him!

He was speaking again: "Do you remember what I said when you saved my life in Port Angeles? The second time, or third. That you were messing with fate because my number was up?" Yes, I did. "Well… if I _had_ to die, Edythe… isn't this the most amazing way to do it?"

I could see now that he would never perceive this life in the way that I did. And suddenly, the whirling, dizzying spinning in my head came to a standstill. I realized, with a jolt, that aside from the dark shadow of my black wickedness, the incredible wrongness I'd done to him—that apparently only _I_ was upset about—that this was the best night of my entire existence. How was it possible to get every single thing I'd ever wanted, as well as all the things I'd never thought to ask for, in the same night?

Could he really not be angry with me? Could he really be as happy as he said he was?

As I stared into his bright, newborn eyes, I could see the answer clearly. No. He was not upset. The strange new light I'd seen in his eyes before was not anger, was not the pure rabid thirst of a new vampire, but _joy_. A deeper joy than I had ever seen in him before. Was it true? He was telling me it was so…

I shook my head in awed disbelief. "Beau, _you_ are amazing," I said quietly.

"I guess I am now."

"You always have been," I argued.

He didn't reply to that, but there was something there in his expression—something he was holding back.

"What is it, Beau?"

"Just…" He paused. "Something Joss said." He flinched when he spoke her name.

Fierce rage tore through me, despite the fact that I knew she was dead and would no longer bother him. I remembered the video I'd watched with Archie, and all the lies she'd told him. All her wicked, scheming ways. "She said a lot of things," I spit through clenched teeth.

"Oh." His brows knit together in an expression that resembled anger for only a sixteenth of a second, and then smoothed over. "You saw the tape."

More than the fury, more than the wrath, was the pain. The pain of what she'd done to him, the ways she'd _hurt_ him… I felt my face lose its color at the memory. "Yes, I saw the tape," I told him.

"When?" he asked, "I didn't hear—"

"Headphones."

"I wish you hadn't—"

I shook my head at him. "I had to," I insisted. "But forget that now. Which lie were you thinking of?"

He hesitated for a very long moment. "You didn't want me to be a vampire," he finally said.

Oh. Not a lie. And now I was confused. "No, I absolutely did not."

"So that part wasn't a lie," he confirmed, and there was agony in his expression again… _Why_? "And you've been so upset… I know you feel bad about Charlie and my mom, but I guess I'm worried that part of it is because, well, you didn't expect to have me around very long, you weren't planning for that—" I opened my mouth to protest immediately, but then his entire hand covered my lips, hindering my protestations. Fury bolted through me, and suddenly, I wanted to _bite_ that hand. How dare he stop me from assuring him that this was _not_ what I had been thinking?! "Because if that's what it is, don't worry," he continued, speaking the words so fast they blurred together, "If you want me to go away after a while, I can. You can show me what to do so I won't get either of us in trouble. I don't expect you to put up with me forever. You didn't choose this any more than I did. I want you to know that I'm aware of that."

I waited, very impatiently, for him to remove his hand. When he did, I snarled softly at him, flashing my teeth. "You're lucky I didn't bite you. The next time you put your hand on my mouth to say something so completely idiotic—and _insulting_ —I _will_ ," I threatened.

"Sorry," he murmured, and there was pain in his face.

Could he believe these lies with any sort of conviction?! Clearly, he did. His expression told me as much, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the rampage of warring emotions. There was pain, there was guilt, there was joy, there was shame.

I could not resist stepping closer to him and wrapping my arms around his waist. I pulled my body to his flawless, indestructible, new one. For the briefest of moments, I concentrated on the firmness of his chest, his smooth, incandescent skin, and the scent that was all Beau and none of the human, that came off that skin…

But I forced myself to focus.

I rested my cheek to the place where his silent heart lay, and tilted my chin up so I could look at him.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully, Beau," I told him quietly. "This—having you with me, getting to keep you here—it's like I've been granted every selfish wish I've ever had. But the price for everything I want was to take the exact same thing away from you. All of your life." Could he sense that my voice was trembling under the strain of the emotion? "I'm angry with myself, I'm disappointed in myself. And I wish so much that I could bring that tracker back to life so that I could kill her myself, over and over and over again…" My teeth clenched together, and I had to shake off the imaginings so I could continue. "The reason I didn't want you to be a vampire wasn't because you weren't _special_ enough—it was because you are too special and you deserve more." I spoke with as much ferocity as I could muster, which wasn't difficult. He _had_ to understand this. It was vital. "I wanted you to have what we all miss—a human life. But you have to know, if it were only about me, if there were no price for you to pay, then tonight would be the best night of my life. I've been staring forever in the face for a century, and tonight is the very first time it's looked beautiful to me. Because of _you_.

Don't ever think again that I don't want you," I pleaded. "I will always want you. I don't deserve you, but I will always love you. Are we clear?"

In answer to my soliloquy, his face broke into a grin—and I was delighted to see that the dimple in his chin was still there.

"So that's okay, then," he said.

I grinned back at him. What an understatement. "I'd say so."

"That was the only important thing I wanted to say," he said, "Just—I love you. I always will." The waves of bliss rose higher and higher inside of me, lifting my heart into my throat. "I knew that from pretty early in. So, with that being how things are, I think we can work out the rest."

As he took my face in his hands and leaned down to kiss me, the bliss rose up over my head, pulling me under. I did not come up for air.

Kissing him in this new, unexplored way was electrifying. Initially, I did not think of the impossibility of such a thing—that he would have retained the kind of desire for me he'd held in his human life—that his new thirst was not in complete overdrive.

For many long moments, I only focused on the sensation of his body against mine, the way one of his hands fisted in my hair, and the other one laid flat against the swell of my hips, crushing me to his chest.

He felt so different in this new, strong body—and yet, impossibly, the very same as he always had. All of his frailty and weakness was gone, but his shape was still there. He kissed me with abandon now, and I returned the fervor. No longer did his lips yield and shape themselves around mine; instead, they held their own. No longer was his flesh pliant and forgiving beneath my hands. His body was capable and powerful and steady.

All of the feelings that had been torturing me for days released with a whoosh, like a dam being loosened, like a cup running over… They flowed away in place of this impossible, all-consuming joy and desire. I was _happy_ , truly happy in a way I never had been before.

The liberty was unbelievable.

Finally, I broke away, finding that it was a struggle to do so—not only because I desired to press myself closer to him, but because his strength was so much larger than my own at present.

I laughed in joyful incredulity. "How are you _doing_ this? You're supposed to be a newborn vampire and here you are, discussing the future calmly with me, smiling at me, _kissing_ me! You're supposed to be thirsty and nothing else." I was in awe of his extreme composure.

"I'm a lot of _else_ … But I am pretty thirsty, now that you mention it," he said.

 _Now that I think about it?_ I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and stretched up to press my lips to his once, solidly. Of course, I should have expected this. Since when had Beau been anything but exceedingly resilient and brilliantly unanticipated?

"I love you," I told him. "Let's go hunt."

I took his hand and tugged. He relented, and we shot like two silver bullets into the trees.

…

 **A/N:** Ta-da! Tell me what you thought of the final original chapter!

This was pretty intense to write. Gah.

Stay tuned for the alternate ending now, and make sure to have me in your author alerts so you'll be notified when 'Darkest Hour' New Moon through Edythe's eyes comes out!

Thank you, unendingly, for all of your support and love, readers! xo


	23. Ch 21 AE: The Rescue

**A/N:** So, I decided to do the original Twilight ending from the beginning of the chapter. I went back and forth on it, but decided it flowed better this way for the people who just wanted to go ahead with the alternate ending and skip over the original L&D ending.

Enjoy this one, lovely readers! In my opinion, it has a much happier ending.

…

I sat abnormally inert—the type of inertness humans notice—throughout the entire flight to Phoenix. This time, Eleanor sat beside me, and when she noticed my statue-like state, she kicked me in the ankle, hard enough that it would have shattered a fragile human bone.

I blinked, but otherwise did not move.

The stress of the situation was too much for me to handle. I trusted my brother and sister, truly I did, but I did _not_ trust Beau's wildly incongruous instincts. This would not be over until I was in his arms again, and I was glad they would be meeting us at the airport. There would be no delay. We would disembark, and I would be with my love again.

Ten seconds had passed, and now, El elbowed me so hard in the side, it would have ruptured a mortal's kidney.

I turned my head slowly to look at her, cocking an eyebrow.

She stared wide-eyed at me.

 _Breathe_ , she urged, _People are noticing._

I took an exaggerated breath, lifting my shoulders almost to my ears, and then letting them fall.

She rolled her eyes. _What's the plan?_

"The plan," I repeated, and in the seat across the aisle, Carine cocked an ear to listen in, "We get in, and get Beau out. I'll catch the first flight to anywhere with him."

 _And then?_ Carine fished.

"And then the rest of you converge on Renee's house and take care of the tracker and her mate."

Eleanor worried it was a trick. She didn't want me going alone.

 _I stick with you,_ she reiterated.

I sighed. "They'll need you to fight with them."

Eleanor contemplated this. She could see the logic there, but she still didn't feel comfortable with me going alone.

"Jess?" I suggested.

 _Maybe. She might not want to leave Archie, though._

"Royal?"

El snorted underneath her breath in disbelief.

I narrowed my eyes at her.

 _Carine?_

"Maybe," I breathed.

Carine's thoughts were questioning, and I explained in a terse whisper, the plan.

 _Certainly I'd go with you,_ she agreed immediately. _Or I'm sure Earnest would as well. The Isle is always a possibility…? It's isolated enough that the chances of them finding you would be slim, and you'd be able to hear the thoughts of anyone who was to approach…_

I nodded. The plan was set—now all that was left to do was carry it out.

Time passed slowly—each tick of the second hand on the clock like the pulse of blood behind a mortal bruise. I ached for Beau's warm, soft arms around me. I ached for the assuredness I would see in his eyes. I ached for the death of the tracker who was so intent on stealing Beau's young, pure life from him. I ached for things to be as they were only three days ago.

How had so much changed in such a short amount of time?

It became clear to me that I would have to find some way to leave Beau, once he was safe again. I was tempting fate by continuing to put myself close to him. Every minute he spent in our world was a minute spent in peril.

It might kill me to leave him, but somehow, I had to find a way.

But the thought was too painful to bear, and I could do no more than merely decide that this would be the correct course of action. I could not dwell on it, or make plans in accordance with it.

I would focus on today, this minute. Tomorrow would come later.

But I _would_ be strong enough someday. I had to be—if these last two days had been any indication at all of how star-crossed we really were.

We were just about to the tarmac when everything fell apart—again.

 _Edythe?! Edythe, I'm sorry! He's gone! I'm so sorry—he went to meet her! I don't know how it happened. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!_

Wild panic tore through me, and my hand tightened reflexively around the armrest. It snapped clean in half with a loud crack. Humans in the immediate vicinity started and swiveled their heads around, but they did not discover the source of the sound.

 _What?!_ El demanded, gripping my arm, _What happened?!_

 _Edythe? What is it!?_

A very unladylike word slipped from between my teeth.

"Tell us!" El hissed out loud.

"He went to meet her," I breathed, staring fixedly, numbly, at the seat in front of me, "She has him."

Their alarmed reactions were horror-struck and immediate, though branching off into two different directions.

 _How?_ Carine, of course, needed to know the semantics behind it.

 _Where_? El growled quietly. She was immediately fiercely protective.

I was frozen with terror. My teeth locked together, and I was afraid I would never unlock them again. They felt bonded by cement.

 _… corner of 58_ _th_ _and Cactus,_ Archie was thinking, his mental tenor frantic and ashamed, _Renee's house is just down the street. I'm waiting at the West exit. Black CTS-V._ Flickering roadmap pictures shuffled through his head… The airport exit, west on the I-10, Exit 147… I followed his directions, memorizing each turn as it came, all the way to the dance studio—the _dance studio!_ —on the corner of 58th and Cactus.

And then he began the whole spiel over again, not knowing if I was within hearing range of his thoughts yet.

"Archie has a car," I reiterated to my mother and sister after I'd memorized it all, "He's waiting for us at the west exit. Beau is meeting Joss at a dance studio on the corner of 58th and Cactus."

"We'll be right behind you," Eleanor said.

"How did she convince him to meet her?" Carine wanted to know.

"I don't know, I don't know." My head rocked back and forth mechanically. "She tricked him, somehow. I don't know…"

The wheels of the airplane touched down on the runway, and the humans bounced in their seats, heads wobbling. I was completely stiff, paralyzed. The moment the doors opened, I would be gone. I tensed in my seat as the pilot taxied toward the gate. Her thoughts were serene and casual, and she was in no rush at all.

"But how did he get away from Jessamine and Archie?" Eleanor urged.

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know…"

Finally, we were there. It took them a ridiculously long time to open the doors, but then the safety hatch disengaged, and I stood so quickly I wrenched the seatbelt clean from its moorings with a snap.

I moved down the aisle just a little too quickly. The thoughts around me registered with surprise and confusion. Most of them brushed my sudden appearance off as their own grogginess and inattention after a long day of travels. The flight attendant jumped when she turned and saw me over her shoulder. To her, I had quite literally appeared out of thin air.

With a small smile, I slipped past her and moved down the concourse as fast as I dared. Eleanor and Carine were right behind me.

It was agonizing to move at the clip I was. I was forced to run at a quick human's pace through the terminals, though all I wanted to do was burst into motion—to push my legs as quickly as I could. Though no one would see me if I moved at full speed, I risked hurting someone in the jostling crowds around me.

I stepped onto the down going escalator and shouldered my way—gently—through the packed steps. People protested out loud, and some complained only in their minds, as I shoved past them. I hit the first level, where the groupings were coagulated even thicker here—gathered around the luggage carousels.

Finally, we made it through the automatic doors, and out into the balmy early morning of the desert. If I'd been in this unlikely place under any other circumstance, I would have taken a moment to revel in the wonderful balmy heat, to appreciate the spiny, barren vegetation around me, somehow beautiful in their naked shapes. I would have taken time to value the red dirt-sand, the pitch-black asphalt, the light beige structures. Above us, the sky was clear and wide and almost as blue as Beau's eyes, and under any other circumstance, I would have tipped my head back to examine it.

But this circumstance was not like any other, and so I did not take the time to notice these things. Instead, my eyes zeroed in immediately on the black Cadillac idling at the curb. Archie was in the driver's seat, Jess on the passenger side.

We dove inside, luckily sheltered by the deep shade of the awning, and Archie stomped on the gas pedal before the doors were closed, the peeling out tires echoing in the sandstone tunnel behind us.

Thank what god there might have been, Archie drove us through the bright desert city just as I would have if I'd been in the driver's seat. But I could not be hindered by the ridiculous notion of driving. Though it was agonizingly unbearable to sit back and let Archie take the wheel, in being the passenger, I would be able to exit the vehicle sooner, and get to Beau that much faster.

 _Please, please, please,_ I begged, _If there is a God,_ _ **please**_ _let me get there in time!_

"I saw that we might get separated," Archie was explaining, his words tripping over one another. "So I was watching him carefully. I watched his every move, every muscle twitch, every inhalation…" His thoughts flickered briefly to me, apologetic once more, but I saw no point in chastising him. He was nearly as frantic for Beau's safety as I was.

"We caught Joss's sent outside the airport, and I thought she might make a grab for him, though the scent wasn't exactly fresh, but I was being extra vigilant. When he asked Jess to go with him to get breakfast, I started seeing it—the separation—but I assumed it would be a move on the tracker's part, _not_ on his!" The last words pushed through his locked teeth in a snarl of frustration. "Depending on the traffic, we'll get there in time. But we have to hurry!"

He pushed the car forward, taking to the shoulders or sidewalks to slip around vehicles in his way. He took to alleyways and the opposite route on one-way streets to bypass clogged traffic. We were forced to slow at inopportune moments, hindered by the presence of law enforcement, a part of the daily morning commute. It was _not_ the right time of morning for this.

But then, when _would_ the correct timing be?

As we raced through the far too expansive city, I compiled all the different ways I would torture Joss, in my mind. It was no wonder I loathed what we were when creatures such as _she_ were a part of my species! I thought of the most agonizing ways to kill the tiny villain who wanted Beau dead, organizing each one in order of the greatest amount of agony.

While I compiled this list, another part of my very spacious mind was assembling another catalogue—a much shorter catalogue: My contingency plans, what I would do if I were… too late. If I did not arrive in time to save Beau, there was no question that I would not be able to go on without him. In the short time I'd known him, he'd changed me so completely, so irrevocably. My life was nothing if Beau did not exist. Our lives were tangled, inexorably, into one strand. If you cut one, you cut both.

I knew enough from Carine's own experiences that I would not succeed in ending my life by my own terms. It took a vampire to kill another vampire. _If_ I was too late to save Beau—and I was hoping with all I had that I would _not_ be too late—I hoped there was a chance that I could engage Joss in a fight, a battle that I would allow her to win. But I doubted my family would stand back long enough to allow that to happen. My sisters surely would not take my life for me.

The only option left, then, was to go to Sulpicia and the Volturi, and provoke them in some way. If I was not in time to save Beau, if, by the time we got there, he was already… departed, I would go to Italy.

The time to ponder such eventualities had come to an end, for we were turning the corner onto 58th Street. I could see the place, a squalid old brick building, with an empty parking lot.

I could not hear Renee's mind in the vicinity. This did not bode well. There was a chance that her mind could be as reticent to me as Beau's was, but I did not think that was a likely possibility. Beau was the only being in my entire existence whose mind I could not hear whatsoever. Of course, I could not hear him now, but I could hear Joss.

Her thoughts were undeniably malicious, wild with bloodlust and hard-fought restraint, but I did not focus on them. I skipped over that and funneled my hearing.

Hope bolted through me when I heard it—his heartbeat. He was alive! Beau was alive! However, I could hear only one heartbeat. Did that mean Joss had already done away with Renee? How would Beau handle losing his mother to this type of monstrosity?

"He's alive!" I gasped.

In the next instant, as Archie sped down the final roadway, there was a crunching, shattering, breaking sound. And then—worse than the breaking, worse than the shattering, I heard Beau scream.

I didn't realize that I was wailing too until Carine gripped my hand, her thoughts terrified. My choking yowling cut off with a whimpering moan.

"I'll _kill_ her!" I choked, nearly soundless.

"What's _happening_?" Eleanor shouted.

"He's hurt—" I sobbed, "She's hurt him badly!"

Archie took the turn into the parking lot too sharply. We rose up on two wheels and then crashed back down. I was out the door then, sprinting across the parking lot toward the studio. I was screaming again, a harsh metallic screech of terror and fury and pain.

I did not take the time to pull open the front glass doors. I smashed right through, shoulder first, glass splintering everywhere.

I was beyond reason, beyond logical thought, beyond words, when I saw them at the other end of the long room. Beau, my sweet, _sweet_ Beau, laid in a crumpled, broken heap.

The first thing I smelt was the wonderful aroma of his blood—too thick in the air. Also, I could smell the acrid odor of vomit. There was blood—blood everywhere, seeping from his scalp, down his face and shoulder and arm.

I did not attempt to restrain myself. I crouched, lips pulling back from my teeth to release the menacing snarl of an attack roar. And then I launched myself at the slim vampire, who was, at this very moment, hurling herself at Beau.

We collided mid-air, the sound like granite smashing against granite. Glass shattered as I tangled my fingers in her hair and smashed her face into the wall of mirrors. The tiniest fissure appeared on the edge of her face, and she had the audacity to _grin_ at me. There was no fear in her eyes—there was only smug satisfaction, and the expression, as well as her thoughts, enraged me.

A furious shriek escaped my throat, and I turned her to face me. Her thoughts twisted and contorted, showing me the ways she'd tortured Beau with horrifying clarity. The snap and pop of his bones breaking, the strange hissing sound she'd heard, when his shattered rib had punctured his lung… The fear in his eyes.

And then Beau screamed again.

 _We've got this!_ Eleanor was there, shoving me toward Beau's arcing, agony-gripped form. Jessamine had already trapped the tracker in a death grip, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Eleanor tear her head from her body.

Her thoughts cut off as her mind went deathly silent.

I went numb for one singular moment, and then I turned, flashing to Beau's side. "No!" The agony escaped from me anew as I dropped to my knees by his head. So _much_ blood—it was horrendous. His leg was twisted unnaturally, his right forearm out of line from the bicep. His skin was deathly pale, almost grey in pallor. His eyes were wild with pain as his agonized yowling gradually lost volume.

His body was working too hard, and my agony multiplied.

"No, no, no, no!" Tearless sobs wracked through me as I scooped his frail, broken body up and held it to me, laid his head gently in my lap, and stroked his anguished, beautiful face. "Beau, please. Please, please, please, Beau, please!"

His screams had cut off with a strange sounding, groaning sigh. I could hear his lungs struggling to work, the air escaping through the punctures like popped balloons. His heart labored weakly, frail and frantic.

"Carine!" A terrified shriek escaped me. She was the only thing I could count on now to save his life. She was the best doctor in history—she would save him. She _would_! " _Help me_! Beau, please," I begged, frantically attempting to control the bleed in his scalp. The laceration was deep. I could see all the way to his skull. "Please, Beau, please!"

He was fading fast, awareness disintegrating from his face. Some light in his eyes went out, and they fluttered shut. What little strength remained in his lungs left, and he stopped breathing. His heart stuttered unevenly, sluggish and feeble. His lips turned a worrying shade of blue.

 _No!_

I leant over and pressed my lips to his, blowing softly. I heard his lungs fill and respond. I breathed for him once more.

I pulled back slightly, finding his eyes slitted open, just barely. Through his lush, wet lashes, I could just barely see a splinter of blue.

"Keep breathing, Beau," I ordered him, hoping he could hear me "Do you hear me?! Breathe!"

I bowed forward and pushed another breath into his lungs, because he was not doing as I asked!

Carine kneeled down next to me, her mind immediately lapsing into assessment and inventory. She catalogued his injuries, one by one, ticking them off in her head. I tried not to pay attention to the tally.

"Archie, make splints for his leg and arm," she commanded, "Edythe, straighten his airways. Which is the worst bleed?"

"Here, Carine," I told her moving my blood soaked hands away from his skull so she could assess the wound.

Beau began to whimper, and the sound shattered my heart into a million pieces. He was in pain, such pain, and it was entirely _my fault_!

"My bag, please," Carine requested of Archie. She glanced up at him momentarily; she saw the glint of restrained thirst in his eyes. I did not pay attention to his thoughts. I was in one agonized swirl, trapped with Beau. His life was my life. His pain was my pain. In this moment, there was nothing but him. "Hold your breath, Archie, it will help." Eleanor returned Carine's butane lighter. Vaguely I noted that Joss's pieces were burning now. "Thank you, Eleanor, now leave, please." She turned back to the task at hand. "He's lost blood, but the wounds aren't too deep. I think his ribs are the biggest problem now. Find me tape," she ordered Archie.

Beau's whining lengthened in rhythm, long agonized keening.

"Something for the pain," I hissed brokenly.

"There—" Carine nodded toward her bag, "I don't have hands. Will you?"

I reached forward, snatching the syringe from the bag.

"This will make it better," I promised him, and injected the pre-measured dose of morphine into the forgiving flesh of his unbroken arm.

Carine straightened his leg so she could brace it, and I waited with bated breath, for his scream of agony. But he didn't respond.

"Edythe—" he rasped, his eyes fierce on my face. I wiped the blood from his eyes so he could see.

"Shh, Beau," I crooned soothingly, stroking his lovely, tormented face, "It's going to be okay. I swear, it's going to be fine."

"E—" he wheezed, "It's—not—"

His suffering whispers faded, probably in reaction to Carine beginning to suture the gaping head wound, and Archie gently pulling at his broken arm, so it could be braced, too. It was badly broken, and I moaned in anguish.

Beau's shallow, winded breaths ceased once more.

"Hold on, Beau. _Please_ just hold on."

He pulled in a rasping inhalation. He heaved a few labored breaths, cyanotic lips moving shakily, as if he were trying to speak. The words he heaved were jumbled and unintelligible.

"Can you understand him?" Carine asked. She didn't lift her eyes from his head, where she was still sewing.

I shook my head. "Just rest, Beau. Breathe," I urged. This was all he needed to worry about right now; he just needed to keep his heart beating, continue to breathe, and we would do our very best to take care of the rest.

"No—hand," he choked, "Edythe—right hand!"

I picked up his hand, examining it for some sort of overlooked injury—and then I found it. Barely identifiable, a single puncture wound on the tip of his finger, matted in sticky, half-dried blood, but I saw it for what it was, and the realization shook me to the core.

 _"No_!" I cried.

"Edythe?" Carine asked, perplexed.

"She bit him," I choked with what air remained. I felt like my lungs had been crushed. My head swirled in sickening circles.

Carine gasped, and her mind went blank with shock. Her hands paused on the head wound, just momentarily.

"What do I do, Carine?" I begged.

She resumed her work.

 _I don't know that it will work—it might not—but there may be a chance… that you can suck the venom back out, like a snake bite. You'll have to reopen the wound. Can you do that?_

Did I have a choice? Would I go back on my word and end his life? _No._ I would reverse the damage Joss had done. She thought she'd fooled us. I was strong enough for this. I needed to be. There was no other way—if Beau were to live a normal human life, I would have to succeed at this mountain of a task.

"Yes," I snapped through my teeth. I _had_ to. "I can try. Archie—scalpel."

He passed it over wordlessly, completely stoic.

I gripped Beau's hand, slicing a fresh access point in the juncture between his thumb and forefinger. Beads of blood welled on the fresh wound, and my jaw ached. I lifted his hand, bowed my head, and pressed trembling lips to his skin.

The world focused into a fine-tipped point, and all of a sudden, I forgot what I was fighting for—forgot what I was doing. Dimly, in the back of my mind, someone screamed in agony. I didn't focus on that. For in this moment, I had tasted the sweetest of tastes I had ever experienced.

The flavor was ecstasy—it was _everything_.

I floated in the warm, electric sensation, locking my fingers around his wrist and pulling his hand more securely to my lips so that I could taste more of him.

The taste, the scent, the syrupy sweetness of him coated the inside of my mouth and the back of my throat with ambrosia.

Searing white heat overtook my vision, and I could feel it when my mind began to fracture into fragmented pieces.

His luscious blood was more potent a flavor than I ever could have imagined. The moist drink was a soothing balm on my desiccated throat. The flames were entirely extinguished in this moment.

I fell down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, its velvet confines swallowing me whole.

Lovely burgundy brocade, warm succulent bliss…

" _Edythe!"_ A faraway voice shouted, as if from a dream. Or maybe _I_ was in the dream, and this person was calling to me from the real world. I struggled to focus, knowing this voice was important, knowing the words he would say should mean something, but when I focused, the experience dulled in sharpness.

 _No!_ I gripped this intimate moment closer, not wanting to lose it.

" _Stop, Edythe_!" the voice shouted, and something battered on the soft, flexible walls of my mind. Something sharp—a physical strike—but I didn't feel it, not really. It was nothing in comparison to this stupor. I imagined my physical life could be done away with and I would not have noticed until this all-consuming experience was ripped from my hands.

" _Stop it, Edythe! Stop it now! You'll kill him!_ " An image broke through the frontier of my mind, and at first glimpse, it didn't mean anything, but when I looked longer, I realized that I recognized the ghostly pale boy in the picture. He was broken and gnarled, bloody and gashed, and there was no life in him. And then, with a shock that was suddenly very icy in this very warm bubble, I saw myself, curled over the boy possessively, eyes demon-red. The boy was empty, and she had taken everything.

My lips released from his skin, and I dropped his hand, choking on the vision as if it were a physical life force. The flavor of my love's blood was still thick on my tongue and in my throat, and I curled over to press my forehead to the floorboards underneath my knees, struggling to recompose myself.

"Edythe…?" Beau's voice was just a whisper. He floated on the tide of opiate-induced fatigue, and his thrashing had stopped. I propped myself up on one forearm, tenderness overwhelming me. I had done it. My love for this wholly precious and blameless human boy had saved him. Against all odds, against all reason, I'd managed to wrestle myself from the impossible task. I'd _stopped_ , I'd been able to spare him, and he would _live_ — _human_!

"I'm here," I said to him, my voice still tight with restraint, but I could hear the victory in it.

He was steadily losing consciousness, eyelids heavy, and his hands wandered. I saw what he wanted, and pulled his palm to my cheek.

"Stay," he susurrated, "Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere," I promised him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

 _Is it all out?_ Carine asked.

"I can taste the morphine," I murmured, stroking soft and gentle fingers over Beau's now peaceful, uncreased forehead.

"Beau?" Carine said to him.

He murmured something unintelligible in response.

"Does your hand still hurt?"

"Hmm," he breathed tonelessly. "No…"

Relief coursed strongly through the three of us, though I only would have suspected as much due to his now-docile state.

"It's time to move him," Carine murmured, her eyes locking on mine. Over her shoulder, the pyre where Joss's remains burned, was growing. Jess and El had ripped up some of the floorboards and soaked them in gasoline syphoned from the car. Sickly sweet, thick lavender smoke snaked from the burning pile.

 _We have to get him to the hospital,_ she was thinking, _He's going to need surgery, at least to patch his lungs…_ Her thoughts trailed off, into the inanimate jargon of a surgeon, and I tuned her out. I could not focus on the pain of recovery Beau would have to endure.

Despite that thought, my heart was glad and light and relieved.

"I wanna sleep," Beau mumbled now.

"You sleep, Beau," I encouraged him, shifting my arms underneath his battered body, to pull him from the floor, "I'll take care of you. You're going to be fine. I love you, I love you."

"I know," he mumbled, half of his mouth almost pulling up into half a grin.

I had to answer that lazy, drugged smile with an ecstatic grin of my own.

"Sleep, Beau," I said to him just before he fell into unconsciousness.

…

 **A/N:** I'll keep this brief—I enjoyed writing this ending a whole lot more. The original L&D ending was surprisingly difficult to pen. Of course, Beau and Edythe get their forever a lot sooner, but it comes with its fair amount of heartbreak and strife—keep your eye out for the next one!

I've completely finished pre-writing Daybreak, so that's why you're seeing uploads so much more frequently. I know this part is cut up in a few different pieces, and you're looking forward to reading them all.

As always, let me know what you thought if you have a spare minute! I'm looking forward to you guys reading the next one. xo


	24. Ch 22 AE: An Impasse

**A/N:** Mario = male version of Maria (which Mary is derived from, which was Alice's human name)—hence, Archie's human name.

See you guys at the end!

(I swear, I've proofread this chapter like 3 times, and just watch—as soon as I upload it and read it through on FF, I'll find copious errors. *rolls eyes* I just can't win…)

…

Upon our arrival to the ER, Beau was immediately taken into a trauma room. When I tried to follow the gurney inside, a nurse put a hard hand on my shoulder.

He immediately retracted it, horrified by my coolness, but I couldn't bring myself to step back.

"You can't come in here," he said firmly.

My eyes flashed past his elbow, where they were hooking Beau up to oxygen, clipping a monitor to his finger, and starting an IV. Desperately, I wanted to push past this imbecile and barge into that room.

But Carine came up behind me and put her hands on my shoulders.

 _He's in good hands,_ she assured me.

The male nurse was satisfied that my mother was here to occupy me, and he turned to step into the trauma room, so he could aid the others' efforts.

I felt entirely helpless, and uncomfortably vulnerable. There had to be _something_ I could do to help, even if it _was_ just to stand there and hold his hand while the doctors and nurses worked on him.

 _He's probably going to need surgery,_ Carine told me now, _We need to step back and let the doctors do their jobs._

A trembling breath hitched in my throat, and I turned toward her so I could wrap my arms around her face and lay my head on her shoulder.

"What did I do, Carine, what did I _do_?" I mumbled into her shirt, overcome with the dry, hitching tears.

"You did everything right, Edythe," she soothed me, stroking my loosely plaited hair with a sympathetic sigh. "You saved his life. There was nothing more either of us could have done. He'll survive this."

But I just shook my head, because she didn't understand what I was saying.

It had been nothing short of a miracle that I'd been able to make it to that wretched dance studio in time to tear the tracker off of him; it had been absolute divine intervention that I had been able to face the monster inside of me with such proximity, and emerge victorious. Somehow, I had been successful in sparing his human life. I didn't know how, and I didn't know when, but someday, somehow, I would have to do what I had always known was right. I would have to find a way to make him safe again.

It was becoming apparent that the only way to do so was to leave him after all. The searing agony that thought sent through my chest was sharp. It may have buckled my knees if I'd been human. As I was, I would remember all of this very clearly—the pain, the heartbreak, each precious memory of his face I would take with me…

I did not think he would want me to stay, now. Not after I'd caused him so much pain and fear and horror. How could he ever forgive me for this? He'd almost died, and I had very nearly taken that last vestige of vivacity from him, myself.

The notion made me sick with guilt.

They wheeled Beau away to surgery then, to repair the pneumothorax. I stared, longingly and anxiously, after the gurney they wheeled away, keeping my eyes fixed even as they went through the doors at the end of the hallway.

 _Why don't you check up on Archie? All we can do now is wait, anyhow._

I nodded curtly and turned toward the waiting room. The small area was surprisingly empty. There were only a few other patrons—a pair of parents with a small child between them, holding what looked like a sore wrist, and another couple a few rows over, the woman in tears, the man's arm around her shoulders, whispering soft placations in her ear.

Archie was in the far corner, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed over. He was murmuring lowly into a small silver cell phone, but of course, I could hear every word.

"… The worst of it is his lung. He's in surgery now—"

 _"Surgery?! What on earth happened?"_ On the other end of the line, Charlie was frantic.

Archie's eyes flicked up to meet mine. "He agreed to come to the hotel to talk to Edythe… On the way up to our room, he tripped on the stairs… Fell down two flights and through a window." In his mind, I saw the scene he would tableau. The broken window, the fake blood on the sidewalk… Of course, he would take it too far. That was so Archie… "One of his ribs punctured a lung," he continued to explain now, "Broke his arm, too, I think… And his leg…" He winced, as the list continued to grow, "A bump on the head, too, they said, but only a couple of stitches."

Charlie sputtered unintelligibly for a moment and then demanded to speak with Carine.

"Ah… She's kinda caught up in some paperwork right now, Chief, but I'll get her to call you back right away. Does that work?"

Charlie huffed, his displeasure plain. "Guess so," he grumbled, "I'll fly out there as soon as I can, but I'll have to figure things out at the station first…"

"Don't worry, Chief—Beau is in very good hands," Archie assured him. "When he wakes up, I'll tell him you're on your way. I'm very sorry this happened, Sir…"

"Me too, Archie, me too," he said, his tone muted and calmer now. "Thanks for calling, kid."

"Of course," he responded, his tone a little more chipper now. "Anything for my good pal. I'll have Carine call you as soon as she's available."

When he ended the call, I went to sit in the chair next to him, leaning my head against his shoulder.

"Hm," he huffed after a moment, "He took that rather well, all things considered… D'you think Renee will be as receptive?"

"Mmm," I hummed, letting my eyes fall shut. "I wish."

The majority of the second phone call was spent trying to calm Renee down. She was absolutely beside herself with anxiety and concern—for all parties involved, but especially for Beau. She told Archie she'd catch the next flight out of Jacksonville, and she'd be here soon.

"El and Jess are sticking around to keep an eye out for the male," he told me when he'd ended the call.

"They don't have to do that," I protested.

Archie shrugged an arm over my shoulders. "They insisted. I think they wanted to give you a break."

We sat in companionable silence for a long moment.

"Did you watch the video yet?" I finally asked.

Archie shook his head. "Not yet. I was… Waiting for you." He glanced down at me. "Any interest in a family movie night?"

I snarled quietly and he winced. _Yeah, probably not the classiest of jokes._

"No," I agreed in a ragged whisper. "Do you mind if I sit this one out? I don't think I can… Handle that right now. Besides, I can't leave him…"

"Sure, of course," Archie said, and leaned over to press his cheek to the top of my head. "You did good today, Edy."

I sighed. "I don't _feel_ good."

"You saved his _life_ ," he whispered, "Of course you did well. In fact—you've completely succeeded in side-stepping _both_ of my visions. Keep it up and you'll have me doubting my own abilities."

I reluctant smile stretched my lips, and we laughed quietly together.

Yes—it was true. I had managed to ensure his human survival, and I was exceedingly grateful for that. But my laughter quickly faded when I remembered what steps would need to be taken in order to ensure his humanity stayed firm. It would be worth it, I reminded myself, if it kept him alive and pure. It _would_ be enough, and I could go on living my life in assurance of that logic.

"I know what you're thinking," Archie whispered, and there was a hint of malice in his voice, "And it's not going to work. So don't even think about trying."

I was shaking my head fervently. "I don't see any other way. He'll never forgive me for this. When he wakes up—"

"He'll be _grateful_ for you," he interrupted quickly. "He'll thank you for saving his life, because that's what you did. None of this was your fault, Edy. Bad shit happens to really good people, and we have no idea why." Briefly, his thoughts flickered to the video and all the answers it might entail. He reoriented himself quickly, however. "He chose _you_ , Edythe. Lord knows how many times you tried to stop him, but that's the truth. He chose you, he wants you, and he's not going to make it so easy for you to leave him. You have to accept—"

"What?" I interrupted, my tone scathing. I was on my feet in a sudden blur of fury. "I have to accept what, Archie? That he has to risk his life every second we're together? I have to accept that I almost got him _killed_ today; I have to accept that he's in surgery right now, because by every fault of my own, I essentially sicked a tracker on him, who beat him within an inch of his life simply to spite _me_?! Do I have to accept that I nearly finished him off myself? I have to accept all of that?" My tone had risen in intensity and speed, taking on the hot edge of forged metal, by the time my furious monologue had come to an end, but Archie caught it all.

He didn't answer me. He only stared up at me from his seat with wide, golden eyes.

Finally he murmured, "I don't know the essentials or anything, but something tells me things are gonna work out for you two."

A very quiet hiss slipped through my teeth at the image in his head. "That is _not_ happening," I whispered.

Archie shrugged, letting the image of newborn Beau go easily. "Maybe—maybe not," he said. Then he rose fluidly to his own feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Only time will tell… Now. If you'll excuse me, I have an accident scene to render, and ancient family secrets to unearth."

I sighed, bowing my head. "I'm sorry, Archie," I whispered.

But he shook his head, tugging on the end of my braid good-naturedly. "You've had a rough day. We all have. I'll see you soon."

"See you," I murmured, watching him wind sinuously through the rows of waiting room seats, and stroll through the automatic glass doors, out into the darkened parking lot.

.

I was very, very careful not to catch or pull on any of the wires or tubes sticking to and out of Beau when I was finally allowed to see him.

It was more difficult than I could imagine to see him like this—bruised and battered, swathed in gauze and plaster.

But the surgical procedure had proved successful. They'd mended the lacerations in his lungs, had inserted a chest tube on each side, and had encased his broken limbs in plaster. They were keeping him heavily sedated for the time being, to allow his injuries to heal with as little movement as possible, as well as to keep him comfortable.

They had him intubated, as well as attached to a cardiac monitor.

With supreme caution, I picked up his bandaged hand and held it to my lips.

"I'm here, Beau," I whispered, my voice quavering, "I'm right here… I'm so sorry, Beau." My breath caught in the relative silence of his room—aside from the whoosh of the intubator and the steady beeping of his heart monitor. "I never intended for this to happen to you. I've made so many mistakes. I should have stayed away from you, from the first day. I should never have come back again. I nearly destroyed your life… I could have taken everything from you…" I took a steadying breath. "But you're safe now, Beau. You're not alone… The doctors are taking good care of you; you're out of surgery now, and they said you're resilient—" A small note of laughter escaped my throat, because _of course_ he was "and that you'll pull through this. They're keeping you asleep for now, because your injuries are…" Another small, hitching sob escaped. "They're particularly brutal, and we don't want you to be in pain… So you just sleep for now, Beau. You rest. And if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, dream of me. I'll be right here when you wake up."

I laid his hand carefully across his chest before leaning back in my seat. I breathed slowly and evenly, timing my inhalations and exhalations to the rise and fall of his chest. This rhythm was unfamiliar—it was not his usual, as a machine was doing the breathing for him. Also not familiar was his scent. My throat burned dimly all through the night.

Along with the necessary infusions, which tainted his blood with the smell of strangers, was the bitter aroma of opiates, the sickly sweet cloy of antibiotics, and varying other pharmaceuticals in his system.

Despite this, as the darkness crept toward early morning, the animal inside reared her head. Knowing what I knew now of how his blood tasted, the animal was quicker to rise to the occasion, and I felt deeply mortified in the face of this revelation.

The night nurse took good care of Beau, as well as myself. While I pretended to sleep, curled up in the chair by his bed, she brought me a blanket and covered me with it.

 _Poor girl,_ she thought as she stared at my profile in the greenish glow of the equipments' lights, _She must really love this boy. It's refreshing, to see how devoted young ones can be…_

Renee arrived early the next morning, frantic and half-crazed, as I would have suspected. I watched as she appeared in the doorway. Her face was surprisingly childlike, the baby blue of her eyes making her seem even more so.

 _She kind of looks like me_ , Beau had told me once, _Same eyes, same color hair, but she's short… Extrovert… Brave… Eccentric…_

I could see that courage in her face now, as she took in the sight of her battered and bruised son, hooked up to wires and tubes, surrounded by starched hospital linens, plaster and gauze… Her wide eyes swam with the glisten of tears, and her bottom lip quivered, but she stood as tall as her five-two frame allowed, shoulders back, and her chin held high. I could see who Beau had inherited his bravery from, and I immediately held Renee Dwyer in highest esteem.

"Oh," she breathed, a little unsteadily, "Oh, my baby boy…" And then her eyes turned on me. She jumped, startled by my stillness, and slowly, I uncurled my legs from beneath me and stood, laying the blanket over the arm of the turquoise recliner.

"Hello," I murmured, "I'm Edythe Cullen."

"Oh," she said again, and she lurched forward, across the room. Before I could process where she was going or what she was doing, she had her arms wrapped around me. "Oh, sweetheart—oh, Edythe—thank you! Thank you, dear."

"I…" I stammered, lifting hesitant arms to embrace her back. She didn't seem to notice my cool skin, as the nurse yesterday had, or my stone nature. "Of course," I breathed, and patted her very softly on the back.

"You poor thing," she exhaled as she pulled back to look at me, and now the tears coursed down her face. "You must be so scared, you poor girl. Are you alright?"

I could only stare into Beau's selfless, caring mother's face for a very long moment. Here I had been expecting her to be so angry with me, so frightened and disoriented, but _she_ was asking if _I_ was okay, and abruptly, the parallel between Beau and Renee was staggering. They were so much the same.

"I'm fine," I breathed.

She seemed to swallow back the rest of her tears, and then wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Then she turned toward the bed, hands fluttering helplessly over her unconscious son's body.

"Oh, Beau," she moaned, laying her hands on either side of his slack face, "Oh, my baby. My poor boy." She sniffed, and glanced at me over her shoulder. "Your brother, Archie, was the one who called me?"

"Yes," I told her.

She turned her eyes back on Beau, running soft, warm looking hands over his face, shoulders, hands. He had her hands—long, slim fingers, pink blush in the knuckles, pale and vaguely sinewy…

Renee was very careful not to disturb any of the tubes or wires. She spoke her next words without taking her eyes off her son: "He said Beau… Fell down some stairs… And through a _window_?" Her voice caught on the last word, and she stroked a stray lock of hair away from Beau's forehead.

"That's the story," I murmured.

"And he had to have surgery?"

"Um," I said, "Yes. He had a… A punctured lung. Some broken bones, too, I think. The doctors said he's resilient."

A quiet, breathless note of laughter escaped her, entirely humorless. "Of course he's resilient, of course he is," she crooned, taking the seat I'd abandoned without letting go of his hand. She cradled it in both of hers, treating him with such fragile gentleness it touched me deeply. She loved him with a far greater love than I ever could have foreseen. There was something in her that reminded me of my own mother, as far removed my memories of her were.

"You're alright, baby," she whispered to him, "You'll be alright. Mommy's here. I'm with you…"

I could hear Archie in the hallway, and I tore my eyes unwillingly from the touching scene in front of me.

"I was just about to go get some breakfast," I said quietly to Renee, remembering I had an appearance to uphold. "Can I get you anything? I'll give you a few minutes alone with him…"

"Oh, no, dear," she shook her head at me, "I ate on the airplane. Thank you. Take your time. Go back to the hotel and rest. I'll stay with him." She turned to offer me a gentle smile, her eyes swimming with kindness, and an unthinking smile pulled up the corners of my own lips.

"Thank you," I told her, and I turned to step into the hallway.

Carine stood with Beau's doctor, discussing his charts from the night previous. As far as I knew, he was perfectly stable and on his way to a full recovery. The intubation was simply due to the depth of his unconsciousness. The drugs rendered certain instincts redundant.

Archie stood a few feet apart from them, leaning against the wall. He fixed his eyes on me.

 _Breakfast?_

I smirked at him, and jerked my chin toward the unit's doors. We walked down the long hallway together, around the nurses' station, and through the automatic double doors.

Alone in the elevator, Archie briefed me on Joss's amateur home movie. It was absolutely horrifying, and a rage filled snarl ripped from my throat, echoing in the metal elevator shaft around us. I was glad we were alone.

 _I know,_ Archie sympathized, _It was hard for me to watch too._

Joss had filmed every minute of the horrible near-homicide. There were several empty minutes of track at the beginning, filming the empty dance studio. But she had gotten everything on tape—from the moment Beau stepped courageously, fearlessly, into the long room, to her taunting me through the lens of the camera, knowing how it would afflict me, to every atrocious moment of the torture she'd inflicted on Beau.

And he'd been undeniably strong and noble and courageous through the whole thing. He had not wavered, had not begged for mercy. He'd willingly walked into the tracker's trap, sacrificing himself for the sake of his mother—a trick she'd played on all of us by employment of their old home videos—and had even pleaded with me not to avenge his death.

But if I could, I would bring that tracker back to life so I could destroy her a thousand times over for myself. I had never known a lust for murder so strong— _ever_.

And a painful plight for Archie—the story of his origin. He'd been born into a wonderful family under the name of Mario Archibald Brandon. The first part of his life had most likely been wonderful, but then his family discovered his gift, which they saw only as a brand of the devil, a curse. A horrible family scandal, through which Archie saw the truth, and then he'd been thrown into an asylum as punishment.

The occurrences of what had taken place in that asylum were left entirely to the imagination, but Archie felt he must have been isolated in the dark for a very long time, maybe from the time he was a child; or he'd been treated with repeated doses of electroshock therapy—which was a more viable likelihood, as this procedure had been very popular in the era of his change. Depending on the frequency of the treatments, this would have effectively erased all of his human memories, which would explain much.

According to Joss, an old vampire had befriended Archie, working at the institution at the time, and had taken the best course of action she knew how when Joss set her sights on his sweet-smelling blood. She'd changed him before Joss could procure her prize, and she'd destroyed Archie's creator as revenge.

The story was truly ghastly, but if I knew anything about my favorite brother, he would take what positives he could find from the story. He would not dwell on the horrible parts; somehow, he would find a way to twist his horrible past to make something good of the future. That was just Archie. It was what he did.

And truly, even now, as we disembarked the elevator on the main floor, he did not hold a hint of depression, mortification or anger in the set of his shoulders. He strode gaily alongside me down the long hallway, just as he'd always done.

 _At least I have a new hobby,_ he thought. _Genealogy is worth a shot, now that I know so much._

.

Charlie was unable to leave work to come visit Beau at the hospital. He felt horrible about it, but Renee assured him that she was here, and she would keep enough vigil for the both of them.

"Besides," she murmured into the cell phone, "Edythe won't leave his side for more than ten minutes. She's doing a better job than the both of us could, combined."

Because I had my face turned away from her, I allowed myself to smirk.

When Renee had updated Phil, she returned to her seat on the other side of the bed and took Beau's other hand in hers.

"He's very lucky," Renee murmured, her eyes on her sleeping child's face, "To be surrounded by two women who love him."

"Yes," I responded quietly, "He is."

She glanced at me, startled when I did not deny her assumption. "Tell me," she requested after a contemplative moment. Her mind was not as clear to me as typical humans', about the same as Charlie's, if slightly more abridged. The combination made Beau's impenetrable mind slightly more justified. However, no less frustrating. "Tell me everything that happened."

I sighed, leaning the tuck the blankets back in around his feet, very careful not to disturb his broken tibia.

"We went to play baseball with my family, Friday evening," I began, recalling Archie's cover story with perfect clarity, "And as was wont to happen, we got to talking—about the future, about our hopes and dreams. We got into an argument about something; I can't remember what it was now." Renee's brow crinkled, and her thoughts were confused. She didn't know Beau to be confrontational. I shrugged. "He was upset. He made the decision to leave rather abruptly, and it concerned me. He wouldn't answer his phone, he hadn't told Charlie very much, and so I convinced my mother to bring me to Phoenix, so I could talk to him—to try and convince him to reconsider, and return home with us…"

"It isn't like Beau to run off like that… He's… Tough. If he believes in something strongly enough, he finds a way to see it through."

"Yes," I agreed, and the icy memory of his trickery dropped into my stomach. "He knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to go after it." I flinched internally at the flare of intuition that rose up in the back of my mind. "However uncharacteristic," I continued, folding my hands around Beau's again and leaning close to the bedside, my eyes on his face, "He was afraid. Everybody gets that way sometimes… I truly think that was all there was to it… And I didn't want him making permanent decisions as a result of the fleeting fear. Like you said—it's not like Beau to run off. I suspected as much, and I was hoping, if I could only speak with him, I could convince him to change his mind… I couldn't stand the thought of him leaving me…" By the time I finished, my words had faded to a strained whisper.

Though I did not take my eyes off of Beau's unaware face, I could sense Renee watching me. Her thoughts were like the coming and going of the ocean waves. With each tide, a new revelation pulled in with it. Her mental faculties flowed from confusion, to wondering, to understanding, to fascination, to possession, to acceptance, to awe, to joy…

She was beginning to suspect the strength of my feelings for her son, and much like Earnest, she was very happy that her son had finally found a niche he belonged in after all these years. Renee was a hopeless romantic, a strong believer in all things impossible, and she was abruptly caught up in our whirlwind love story.

She could not begin to understand the true depth of my feelings for Beau, but she was beginning to glimpse the surface.

"He… Means very much to you, doesn't he?" she murmured after a long moment.

I looked up from Beau's face, finding her eyes studying me. They were open and understanding and empathetic.

"Truly, he means the world to me."

She smiled very softly, and reached across the bed to take my hand. Again, she did not flinch back from the cool temperature of my skin.

"If there's one thing I know about Beau, it's that he doesn't take his decisions lightly. He puts all his heart into something, he invests all of his being—if he cares for you in the same way as you obviously do for him, there is nothing the two of you won't be able to surmount."

For one very brief moment, I wondered if Renee understood more than she ought to. But I knew that was impossible.

"Thank you," I whispered to her, wishing the eventuality of our introduction could have taken place under different circumstances.

Over the course of the next day, the doctors began to wean Beau off of his sedation. They told Renee and Carine that he would still be in a fair amount of pain, but that his wounds had progressed sufficiently enough in their healing, that he would be able to cope. But they wanted to wake him to check in on him. There were negative merits to leaving a human under sedation for too long.

As they'd gradually lifted the layers of drug-induced haze, they extubated him and switched him over to simple oxygen—satisfied that he would be able to breathe on his own again.

I waited in anticipation for the moment when I would see his eyes once more.

It didn't happen until the following morning, after Renee went down to the cafeteria to get some breakfast—Archie had delivered an empty coffee mug and a crinkled pastry bag early in the morning while she slept, so I would be covered.

 _It'll be this morning,_ he told me on the way out, _Oh—and let him come to his own conclusions, will you?_

I wasn't able to ask him what he meant by that, as he'd exited the room.

It was a few hours later when Renee excused herself to grab a coffee and some breakfast, after coming to the conclusion that I'd already eaten.

I sat by the bed, humming softly to my love, just waiting for the inevitable. Selfishly, I hoped he would wake while his mother was gone, so we would have a few minutes to ourselves before I would have to share his attentions. It would be understandable for him to not remember a lot of what happened, but if he was anxious about it, he would benefit from being made aware of our cover story.

It happened so briefly, part of me wondered if I missed it. His eyelids fluttered open once, and then clamped back shut. I straightened in my chair, eyes fixed on his changing expression.

"Beau?" I mouthed, the word escaping without sound.

He blinked a couple times more, and then finally, _finally_ , I saw his eyes. Brighter than I remembered, and swimming with haziness, but sudden joy filled my heart when I saw his ocean-blue gaze.

I sat so still that he didn't see me at first. I watched him take in his condition—the clear tubes, and wires. His hand lifted from where it rested at his side, groping at his face. His fingers hooked on the cannula, and I reached forward to wrap the fingers from both my hands around his wrist.

"Oh no you don't," I chided softly, pulling his hand away from his face.

"Edythe?" he murmured roughly, bleary eyes wheeling until he finally found my face. I had my chin resting on the edge of his pillow, and when he found me, I offered him a tiny, overjoyed smile. "Oh. Hey," he said.

"Hi," I whispered, and suddenly, I felt wary. Once he surfaced enough from the pharmaceutical delirium, he was sure to be angry with me—I was sure to face his ire. I wondered if he would ask me to leave; I wondered if he would want to move back to Florida with his mother… It was only suitable, seeing the amount of peril I'd put him in…

"What… happened?"

In the face of his foggy perplexity, the black shade of agony dropped over me again, and it all came flooding back with perfect clarity. Of course, vampires had flawless recall, and so I would not forget the horrors of what had occurred over the last week. Fury took such a stronghold inside me that it felt like a tight fist around my windpipe.

"I was so close to being too late," I whispered, my voice tight with self-castigation. "I could have been too late."

"Hey," he mumbled soothingly, "It's okay now. I'm… well, my head is spinning because what just happened was _crazy_ and I'm… Here, in a hospital bed, with a lot of injuries, I'm guessing, but… I'm also good, Edythe. I'm always good when I'm with you." He started to lift his hand, but then stopped and glanced down. "Ugh." He shuddered.

"What is it?" I asked him anxiously. Was he in pain? Did he feel sick?

"Nothing," he protested, shaking his head, "I'm fine. It's just… I'm not a fan of needles."

 _That was all?_ I could not stop myself from rolling my eyes at the absurdity. Of all the things he could be upset or horrified over…

"Hey—" he suddenly blurted, and lurched as if to sit up. "I need to call Charlie and my mom." His eyes unfocused dizzily, and I gently pushed on his chest, forcing him back into the pillows.

" _You_ need to rest," I insisted. "And Archie called your parents. Renee is here—well, here in the hospital. She's getting something to eat right now. She'll be back soon."

Which gave him an agenda now, to say to me what he needed to say. But he seemed in no hurry to begin the scourging. I watched anxiously as he took a few deep breaths, staring up at the ceiling. I thought I saw him wince, but the expression faded from his face so quickly I couldn't be sure. Was he hurting?

"So what's the story?" he finally inquired, turning his eyes back to my face.

I hesitated for just a moment. Where was the horror, the fury, the betrayal? Where was the shouting and the rejection and the real breakup? Surely, he would not want to spend another minute with me. Maybe he wanted to get the backstory out of the way first?

"You fell down two flights of stairs and through a window," I finally told him.

He blew air out through pursed lips, considering this. Then he flinched, and I stiffened. He _was_ in pain!

"How bad am I?" he wondered.

The tallying of his injuries caused me physical pain, but he had a right to know. "You have a broken arm. You have four broken ribs, two punctured lungs, one more severe than the other—something you needed surgery for; a broken leg—in three places, a lacerated shoulder, severely lacerated scalp, and some cracks in your skull."

"Yikes," he said.

"To say the least."

A long, quiet moment passed between us. I kept my eyes fixed on his.

Finally, he breathed very softly, "How did you do it?"

I knew what he was referring to immediately. Very gently, I lifted his gauze wrapped right hand from the sheets and cradled it in both of my mine. "I don't know," I murmured. I pulled his hand to my face, reveling in the warmth his blanketed skin refracted onto my skin, and closed my eyes, inclining my head very softly against his knuckles. I sighed heavily, and then forced myself to meet his imploring gaze, ashamed and vulnerable. "It was impossible… To stop," I breathed, "Impossible. But I did… I _must_ love you…" By whatever mercy the gods above held for me, they'd given me the strength to pull away from the succulent source of his lifeblood. I honestly could not fathom how I'd managed it.

"What happened to Joss?" he mumbled.

Abruptly, the shame and guilt was burned away by the blistering flames of fury. "I got there ahead of the others because, of course, I'm faster. She was just about to… Finish you off…" Despite knowing he was here and healing and alive, it was harder than I would have suspected to utter the words. "I pulled her off of you. Eleanor and Jessamine came in then, and they took care of her." I lifted my eyes to his again. "I'm so sorry, Beau… So sorry for what I've done to you, what I've caused to happen…"

I braced myself for the certainty of his next words, but all he said after a long moment was, "What?"

It took me a very long moment to process the singularly spoken word. The impossibility of all of this was so entirely overwhelming. He wasn't reacting in the way I thought he would have—under completely acceptable sanctions, by the way. How was it possible that he was not angry with me? My mind twisted and whirled as everything shifted and warbled. Was it possible that he was _not_ angry… That he did _not_ resent me for what I'd done to him…? I couldn't quite make myself trust it.

"Edythe, I'm good," he said now, "I told you that."

"You're not… _angry_ with me? For what I've done to you?"

"Done to me? Edythe, you saved my life! Again. Why would I be angry?"

 _Why would he be angry_? He was acting like the circumstances that had led to his near-death had been completely unavoidable! Of course they hadn't been! There had been a million other options. For one, I could have been stronger. I had let my weakness rule too many times. I could have left that first day and never turned back—there had been opportunities enough! I should have turned my back on him the minute that first near-blunder had occurred! I never should have taken him to the meadow. I never should have kissed him. I never should have stayed the night—or any of the nights before that, for that matter—I never should have taken him to meet my family, never should have told him our stories and lore, and I _never_ should have taken him to that _damned_ baseball game! I never should have separated myself from him, when I'd known it was the blackest kind of wrong, but I never would have needed to guard his life like that if I'd never come back that first day…

A frustrated huff of breath escaped my mouth. "How can you…? Beau you _have_ to see that this is my entire fault. Your life could have ended so easily, so tragically, because of _me._ Because I _let it_ happen. If I hadn't brought you into all of this… If I had kept you safe… If I hadn't involved you in my world—"

His soft, broken hand settled over my lips, knuckles first.

"Edythe—if you hadn't involved me in your world, Charlie and Renee would have lost me three months ago."

I only stared at him, scowling. That absolutely was not a sure thing. It was very likely that he would have been hurt, but it was also very likely that the hospital staff would have treated him very capably, and he would have gone on to make a full recovery. What was a sure thing, was that if I had been there in the parking lot—and had come back when I shouldn't have after that first day—and I had stood by and allowed the accident to happen, there was absolutely no doubt that I would have thoroughly destroyed any chance of survival he might have had.

Why couldn't he see that I had done everything _wrong?_ I had taken so much from him! How could he not see that because of _me_ , he'd nearly died?

Just then, Renee's thoughtful introspection broke through my mental clarity.

She was rushing back to his room, concerned and anxious.

 _Oh, I hope he's not awake yet. He'll think I'm a horrible mother if I wasn't there when he woke up… The doctor said he probably won't come around until mid-day or so, but…_

"I think I hear your mother."

"Don't go." His voice broke, and I saw the irrational surge of panic tear through his wide, clear eyes.

His anxiety threw me for a moment, and I hesitated. Did he really want me to stay? Could it be true?

"I won't," I promised him now, and leaned forward to press my lips to his cheek. "I'll take a nap." I paused, cheek hovering an inch from his, when the monitor jumped around spastically. Hmm…

Unbidden pleasure rose inside me. Supposedly, not much had changed… Could I bring myself to believe it?

"That's going to be embarrassing," he grumbled.

I gazed at him a moment, arcing an eyebrow. "Hmm… I wonder…"

I leaned in again, intent on testing my theories about this fun new game. Before my lips touched his, I heard the heart monitor begin to jump around frenetically. And then, very, very softly, I pressed my mouth to his. The beeping quit altogether, rather abruptly, and I jerked back, disconcerted. The terror quickly faded when the beeping began again with barely a pause.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "It seems I'm going to have to be more careful with you than usual."

Renee was just outside the door now, arguing with a nurse about how they ought to have better sleeping arrangements for loved ones. Her night spent in the turquoise lounge chair had left her with a cricked neck and a throbbing headache. Finished with her short tirade, she turned and put her hand on the doorknob.

I darted to the aforementioned recliner at the foot of the bed, and leaned it all the way back, letting my eyelids fall shut.

"Breathe, Edythe," Beau muttered sarcastically from the bed.

I took an exaggerated breath, unable to stop the grin which stretched itself across my face. However, I managed to compose myself when the door cracked open.

"Mom!" I heard Beau whisper emphatically.

 _Oh! He's awake! I shouldn't have left!_ "Beau!" she squeaked, and rushed across the room, fully intent on throwing her arms around her son's shoulders before she remembered how badly injured he was. She paused at the bedside, and then very carefully leaned forward, hands barely touching his upper arms—one of them casted and secured with a sling—landing a kiss on his hairline.

"Oh, Beau—I'm so glad you're awake!" Emotion choked her.

"Mom—don't cry," Beau mumbled. "I'm okay."

 _Of course he's not okay! He's being so brave—he must be in a world of pain!_ "Oh, honey," she whispered, perching on the edge of his mattress, "I was _so_ worried."

"Don't worry, I'm okay now," he insisted.

Renee reached out and very tenderly stroked his cheek. "It's so good to see your eyes open again, sweetheart."

"How long have I been out?" he wanted to know.

"It's Friday, hon," she informed him, "You've been out for three days. You had a lot of injuries. They had to keep you out for awhile… You're lucky Dr. Cullen was there. She's a very nice woman."

"You met Carine?"

"And Edythe's brother, Archie. He's a nice boy."

"Yeah," Beau agreed, "He's a good guy."

Renee's thoughts and gaze flickered over to where I was 'sleeping' in the chair. "She never leaves, does she?" she whispered conspiratorially. She could see just how ardent my feelings for her son were, but she was also skeptical and concerned for the very same reasons. She remembered just how fantastical and hasty her own relationship with Charlie had been, and she didn't want Beau to wind up hurt and alone the way she had—at least for awhile. "You didn't tell me you'd made such good friends in Forks." She couldn't quite keep the dejection out of her voice.

Through her eyes I saw Beau shrug, and then wince. A smothered moan slipped through his lips.

I stiffened, my eyes flying open upon their own accord.

"What hurts?" Renee demanded, her hands hovering uselessly over his battered body.

He shook his head, his eyes flicking past his mother to lock on mine for half a second. "I'm good," he told us, "I just… Have to remember not to move… Where's Phil?"

I knew this tactic. He was trying to divert the attention away from himself.

"Florida—oh, Beau! You'll never guess! Just when we were about to leave, the best news!"

"Phil got signed?" he guessed.

"Yes!" she gushed, "How did you guess! The Suns, can you believe it?" And then her words flowed so quickly they bled together and overlapped. Her thoughts were a whirlwind as well; she was getting ahead of herself—or at least, I hoped she was. "You'll like Jacksonville so much, honey. I was a little bit worried when Phil started talking about Akron, what with the snow and everything, because you know how I hate the cold, but now Jacksonville! It's sunny every day, and the humidity really isn't _that_ bad. We found the most adorable little yellow house, with a porch just like in an old movie—we can sit out there and drink iced tea in the evenings, and watch the sunset… There's this huge oak tree in the front yard, and it's just a few minutes' walk from the beach…"

"Wait, wait," Beau interrupted, struggling to keep up with his mother's erratic enthusiasm. "Mom—I live in Forks."

Confusion passed first through Renee's thoughts, and then disappointment, followed swiftly by understanding. "Does it have something to do with that girl?" Her tone was only slightly accusing.

Through Renee's eyes, I watched Beau hesitate, and then he sighed. "Yeah, she kinda does," he admitted.

Renee appraised her son's face for a long moment. "I think we need to talk about that."

"Uh… Okay?"

She leaned in confidentially and lowered her voice. "I think that girl is in love with you," she murmured.

"I think so, too," Beau said.

"And how do you feel about her?" she demanded, her thoughts surprisingly parental. Intermixed with her childlike whims and perspectives on the world, it sounded strange. "I hope you're not intending to string her along. She's such a nice girl—smart, too—and very pretty."

I waited anxiously for his answer.

"No stringing intended," Beau assured her, "And… Well… I'm pretty crazy about her, too."

I wasn't sure what I thought about _that_ response.

Renee contemplated this. Her thoughts were suspicious.

 _I know that look,_ she pondered, _He's not telling me the whole story. I think his feelings go a lot deeper than that—but goodness, he's only seventeen! Just yesterday I was changing his diapers and dropping him off at kindergarten!_

"She's a lovely girl, Beau," she told him now, "But _goodness_ , you're both so young!"

"We're both seventeen, Mom," Beau protested, "We're not _that_ young. I'll be eighteen in September."

Renee nodded distractedly, remembering just how sure of herself she'd been at Beau's age—how much of the world she thought she'd known, so confident in all of her ways… She knew that her own parents' advice and admonishments had fallen on deaf ears, and she suspected hers would only do the same now, on Beau's.

"Oh," she murmured, glancing worriedly over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. She'd just recalled that Phil was due to call the house in half an hour, and the drive back to Scottsdale from the hospital was at least twenty-five minutes.

"Somewhere you need to be?" Beau teased her, as if this had happened fairly often while he'd still lived at home.

"Phil's supposed to call in a little while… I didn't know you were going to wake up…" Guilt and embarrassment flooded her thoughts. For all her impulsive, full-hearted ways of observing life, she was surprisingly self-critical of herself as a mother.

"No problem, Mom. You go. I'll be fine."

She hesitated a moment longer, and then ducked in to kiss his cheek. "I'll be back soon," she promised, and with one more glance thrown my way, she headed for the door.

As soon as she rounded the doorjamb, I took her place in the hard plastic chair by the bed, picking up Beau's hand again. Even through the layers of gauze, his skin was very warm.

"How was your nap?" he asked me, his tone heavy with mockery.

"Pleasant." I attempted to suppress a smirk. And then I thought of something, and my amusement instantly plummeted. "I have to admit, I'm surprised. I thought Florida… and your mother… well, I thought that's what you would want."

He stared at me for a long second. "But that wouldn't make any sense," he murmured uncomprehendingly, "You'd have to stay inside all day. Like a real vampire." He half-smiled, arcing an eyebrow. The humor didn't touch me. It was necessary that I give him this option—this option that he really _should_ take…

"I would stay in Forks, Beau," I murmured softly, watching his face intently for any sign of distress, "Or somewhere like it, at least. Someplace where… Where I wouldn't be able to hurt you anymore."

I watched as the emotions made themselves clear across his face—confusion gave way to surprise and understanding, and then anxiety and panic. His breathing rate crept toward concerning proportions, and his heart rate sped.

I waited for him to speak.

A nurse bustled into the room then to check on Beau's equipment. She appraised his expression, which she mistook as discomfort instead of anxiety.

"Time for more pain meds, hon?" she asked him, tapping the IV feed.

"No, I'm fine," he insisted, seemingly unable to tear his anxious gaze from my face.

"Are you sure? There's no need to play tough guy. It's better to keep on top of the pain, so it doesn't get away from you."

"I'm sure," he muttered.

"Alright," she relented, the skepticism heavy. "Hit the call button when you're ready."

When the nurse was gone, I reached up to hold his face between my hands, palms just under the edge of his jaw. "Calm down, Beau—or I'll have to call the nurse back in to sedate you."

"Don't leave," he supplicated, eyes wild with blue fire, heart still pounding.

"Beau," I crooned, stroking his face from temple to jaw, "Beau, I'm not going to leave you."

"Do you swear?" he gasped.

I leaned my face closer to his, staring deeply into his chaotic eyes. "I swear," I promised him, "I'm not going anywhere."

Gradually, as I held his face in my hands, the wildfire in his eyes faded, and his breathing and heart rates slowed.

I exhaled softly in relief. "Better?"

He paused, and then nodded carefully.

"Why did you say that?" He was calmer, but still disconcerted. "Are you sick of having to save me all the time, or something?"

"Of course not," I argued, widening my eyes, "I don't mind saving you—when it's not me putting you in danger in the first place. But more and more often, that seems to be the case…" Self-loathing washed over me.

"Hey," he interrupted, "We've been over this. You're the reason I'm _alive_."

I stared at his gauze-covered hand, where the bite bark and the gash I'd made to re-open the wound lay hidden. Though I clawed at any semblance of the presence, I felt myself being pulled backward, back to the blackness of that ghastly day.

"The worst part," I breathed as the shame rose high above my head, pulling me under, "wasn't watching what that monster did to you—it wasn't seeing you there on the floor… crumpled and broken and hurting." My voice hitched. "Nor was it wondering if I was too late, or hearing you scream in agony… It wasn't knowing that I'll carry those horrible memories with me for the rest of eternity… No—the worst part was believing that _I_ would be the one to kill you, after all… Because I truly did not think I could _stop_." My voice sounded raw by the end of the sentence.

"But you didn't," he said, his voice hard with confidence.

"But I _could have_ ," I breathed, "So easily."

He put his thickly padded, loosely fisted hand under my chin, pulling gently. I knew what he wanted, and could not refuse his gesture. I lifted my castigated, shameful eyes to his.

"Hey," he murmured, "Promise me something."

"What?" I breathed. I would guarantee him almost anything if there was a chance it would redeem what I'd done to him.

"That we'll… We'll stick together from now on—for good."

I sighed. "Don't worry—you'll get your way… _Whether it kills you or not_." I murmured the last part at a lower volume, hoping he hadn't caught that part.

He was quiet for another moment. The only sound in the room was the steady beeping of his heart on the monitor, and his breathing.

"One more thing."

I looked up at him.

" _Why_?" he asked, "You told me how you stopped… But why? If you hadn't done anything, I mean, the venom would have spread… And I would have been just like you by now, right?"

I froze with shock. How much had Archie _told_ him? I was abruptly very , very angry with my brother. I felt too angry to form coherent thought, let alone speak sage and calm thoughts to Beau. So I just stared at him.

"I mean," he continued when I didn't reply, "There has to be some rule out there that says couples have to be equal, or whatever. Sometimes, I wish I could… y'know, play Superman sometimes… protect you, save you, too."

The anger with my brother abruptly faded, and I leaned forward in my seat, laying the tip of my finger on his chin.

"You _have_ saved me." How could he be so entirely unaware of the ways he'd changed me? I was not the same girl I used to be. He'd given my life meaning and purpose. He was what I lived for now—the sun my entire universe revolved around. "But you don't know what you're asking," I hurried on. "I've had almost ninety years to consider it, and I'm still not sure."

His eyes softened. "Do you wish that Carine hadn't saved you?"

"No," I had to admit in a whisper, and I felt my brows pull together. "But… My life was over. I wasn't sacrificing anything…" I shook my head quickly. "I can't do it, Beau. I won't do that to you. You have too much to lose." My voice had turned wheedling—I pleaded with him to understand.

He'd almost lost everything—why was he not jumping at the opportunity to take hold of his humanity once more?

But he shook his head, the blue in his irises taking on a metallic edge. "I can handle it."

"The venom?" I gave him a hard look, trying not to flinch at the memory of his agony.

His chin jutted, just slightly. "That's my problem."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know, it's possible to take bravery to the point where it becomes insanity."

He leveled his gaze at me, stubbornly.

"Charlie?" I demanded, "Renee?"

This struck a nerve, though he reigned in his expression quickly. "I'll live."

"That's just it!" I protested, "You _won't_!"

He stared at me for a long moment. "Archie saw something, didn't he?" he finally guessed.

A very quiet and frustrated growl vibrated in my throat. "I think it's time for more pain killers," I said, and leaned forward to press the call button.

" _How can I help you_?" the voice on the other end squawked.

"I think we're ready for more pain medication," I said into the speaker calmly, ignoring Beau's futile glare.

" _I'll send in his nurse_."

"Thank you." I turned my eyes back on Beau's demanding expression. "Archie sees possibilities—things that _might_ happen. He also saw me kill you, but that obviously didn't happen. Because _I didn't let it_." My words came out with more passion than I had realized.

The nurse entered with a syringe then, and I leaned back in my seat.

"Excuse me," she told me primly.

I got up and retreated to the end of the bed, keeping my eyes on Beau's face. He stared at me as the nurse injected the medication into his IV tube.

"There you go, honey," the nurse said to him kindly, "That'll help you feel better."

"Thanks," he muttered to her, eyes leveled on mine.

It didn't take very long for the drugs to take affect. As soon as the nurse left the room, his eyelids drooped sleepily.

Relief coursed through me, selfishly. This conversation was over—at least for today.

I went to his side again, and brushed my fingers softly over his cheekbone, as his head drooped sideways on the pillow behind his head.

"Stay," he slurred.

"I will," I promised him, touching my cheek to his, "As long as it keeps you safe."

"Mmm," he mumbled, quickly fading, "S'not the same…"

I giggled softly. "Let's talk about that later. You sleep."

"Edythe?" I could barely discern the sound of my name on his thick, drug-laden tongue. I was surprised he was still speaking. His body was totally limp, eyelids shut.

"Yes?" I murmured softly.

"I'm betting on Archie."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course you are."

But he didn't hear me. He was already under.

…

 **A/N:** I have so much in store for Edythe and Renee's relationship—it was fun to write them together. It seemed in Twilight that Renee was a little wary about Edward, but there are a lot of things that change when gender swapping a character, and I really felt that Renee would have a lot more sympathy for Edythe than she did for Edward. I love the notion that their bond would have began here—while they waited for the boy they both loved more than life to wake.

My plan is for Renee to play a much bigger role in this version—mostly in Eclipse and Breaking Dawn (which I have yet to name from Edythe's POV). But you'll see ;)

If you have time, please leave a review :) xo

Next is the epilogue, and then we'll move on to Darkest Hour! Who's excited?! ( _mememe_!)


	25. Ch 23 AE: Epilogue: An Occasion

**A/N:** Guys xD I made such a stupid mistake last night. I went to replace last chapter due to a typo I found and accidentally uploaded the wrong document! LOL. I only realized after I received a very upset, very confused guest review. I'm so sorry! But all is well now, I've corrected my error, and I'll definitely be more careful from now on… Haha. (And by the way, Guest, that chapter does have a story all its own, thanks ;) )

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" by John Legend inspired this epilogue.

…

The long day away from Beau was entirely worth the expression on his face when we were finally reunited.

"Wow," he breathed as I descended the wide staircase to the first level of my parents' house.

"Hmm," I murmured, appraising the fine cut of his tailored tuxedo, the way it streamlined the shape of his shoulders and chest. The dark blue color made the shade in his eyes extraordinarily vivid. He looked absolutely dashing. "I was just going to say the same thing."

I smiled up into his face as my feet touched the wooden floor. Archie had special ordered my champagne-colored gown from New York. It had cost extra to expedite, but money was no obstacle for Archie—not when it came to realizing his visions.

Now, he applauded slowly from the dining room archway.

"Yep," he said, stepping forward. He was already dressed in his own tuxedo—it hinted at the fashion trends from the fifties, the era of his change, but it was also modern enough to pass for fashionable in _this_ era—a requirement, in Archie's case. "Perfect. Just perfect. Give her a little spin there for me, Beau."

Beau looked away from my face at Archie, our hands interlocked between us. "What?"

Archie folded his arms and rolled his eyes. He tapped his foot impatiently. "Oh, come on. Just do it."

I giggled softly, humoring him, and lifted our interlocked hands. I ducked underneath Beau's arm and twirled. The gauzy tulle skirt fanned out daintily as I spun, revealing the embellished, crystal studded heels underneath. I had never had reason before to dress up for such an occasion—weddings, yes, but this was different—and it was surprisingly fun.

Jessamine came up behind Archie then, in her own lilac prom gown.

"Hmm," she said, appraising the two of us, "I wondered how the champagne and navy blue would work together—but they fit perfectly." She leaned up to peck Archie on the cheek. "Wonderful job, my love."

Archie grinned. "Do I ever accomplish anything less than perfect?" he joked.

I laughed, but Beau was silent and stock-still. I heard his heartbeat accelerate for several paces, and when I looked back up into his face, it was flushed with blood. His eyes were wide and fixed.

"No," he said. "No _way_."

I fluttered my lashes at him, feigning innocence. "What is it, Beau?"

His mouth opened and shut a few times, and then he barely croaked, " _Prom_?"

"Honestly, dude? Where did you think she was taking you?"

Beau stuttered a few indiscernible sentences. Archie and Jessamine took their leave, and measuredly, I slid my fingers back into his. He was staring at the spot my brother and sister had just vacated—I was worried he might be having some sort of aneurysm or stroke.

"Beau?"

His eyes flickered back to my face. "What?"

"Humor me?" I cued up the dimples, knowing it would help to assuage his panic—grounded in whatever foundationless reasoning as it was.

He sighed in resignation. "Fine."

I smirked at him. "Well, let's go then. We don't want to be late."

"Yeah," he muttered as I took his hand and helped him out the door. "What a shame _that_ would be…" He stopped on the porch, taking in the car parked in front of the house.

"How many cars do you _own_?"

I grinned at him, exhilarated now. It was a wonderful night—pleasantly warm for late May—but cloudy enough that the fading light of the sun would not trigger any reaction in my skin. It was not raining, and it had stayed relatively dry the entire day, so it was just a perfect night as any to take her out.

"Do you like her?" I asked as I aided him down the steps. I rarely found a chance to drive my '59 Jaguar FX—because it was both ostentatious, and delicate as far as cars went. Adding its color—white—into the equation did not help matters. But she sparkled as brightly as the moon now. The white hub cabs shone dimly, the chrome fixings glossy and bright.

"She's… Something," Beau said as I guided him toward the passenger door and helped him inside. Of course, his leg was still casted, as was his arm, but his other injuries had healed sufficiently, and the bones would mend in a matter of weeks.

Once he was situated and buckled, I headed for the school.

Most of the drive was spent in silence, and each time I risked a quick glance over at his face, his expression was sullen and drawn. He stared out the passenger window with his good arm crossed over the one slung to his chest for most of the journey.

"Nervous?" I asked him when we pulled into the lot.

His eyes lingered on the elaborate entrance, strung through with fairy lights and tulle, a photographer stationed near the front door.

"No," he said immediately, but his heart was pounding a furious, tympanic rhythm, and his knee was bouncing.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back my amused grin at his blatant lie. "When someone wants to kill you, you're brave as a lion— _dancing_ on the other hand…" I rolled my eyes.

Beau gulped loudly, anxiety flashing across his face. "You never said anything about dancing," he very nearly wheezed.

I got out of the car and went around to his side. I pulled open the door and took his face in my hands, leaning in close.

"Beau," I breathed, purposefully exhaling my breath into his face, knowing my scent would distract him, if not calm him. In response, his lips parted and his eyes unfocused, just slightly.

"Huh?"

"I won't let anything hurt you—not even yourself. I won't leave your side even once, I promise." I made my eyes wide and soft and vulnerable, and my voice low and soothing.

He mulled this over, seeming placated, if not swayed in the right direction. I heard his thrumming heart slow into a calmer pace.

"There, now," I said, pleased, "it won't be so bad."

I propped my hand underneath his elbow, and he did not resist when I pulled him from his seat. I wound my arm through his and let him lean heavily on me as we made our way toward the door. We stopped for the photographer to snap a picture, and then eased our way inside.

A burst of incredulous laughter escaped Beau's lips as he took in the gym—balloon garlands and crepe paper galore, as well as the long refreshment table at the end. Over the dance floor, fairy lights were strung in an elaborate pattern. Copious couples, including my brothers and sisters, danced to the pulsing music.

"This looks like a horror movie waiting to happen," he muttered under his breath.

My siblings, across the room, heard him clearly, and Archie guffawed.

"Well," I responded lowly as we shuffled forward in line—I supported most of his weight, leaving him with just enough gravity to shuffle his feet forward so it _looked_ like he was walking on the one tasteful designer leather shoe and air boot. "There are _more_ than enough vampires present for that."

Beau's eyes slid over my head, lingering on the dance floor. I knew without looking what he was seeing—not because I could read his mind, but because I could read the minds of every child in the room around us. The dancers had made a wide semi-circle around my siblings, who whirled and twirled together gracefully in the middle of the dance floor. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes at their theatrics.

Beau turned back to me, clear intimidation and anxiety rolling across his features. He bowed toward me.

"Want me to lock the doors so you can massacre everybody?"

I sighed through my nose, narrowing my eyes at him. I didn't appreciate the joke, but at the same time, I found myself muffling a smile. "And where do you belong in that scheme?"

"I'm with the vampires—no doubt about it." He grinned at me.

This time, I couldn't fight the smile that carved its way across my lips. "Anything to get out of dancing."

"You know it."

We were at the front of the line now, and I purchased our tickets, and then pivoted Beau toward the dance floor. He flinched, as if the prospect caused him physical pain.

I sighed and crossed my arms. "You're really going to deny your girlfriend a dance at the prom?"

He appraised me out of the corners of his eyes, the corners of his lips turning down. "Not fair."

I grinned and leaned up to brush my lips underneath the edge of his jaw, inhaling fire. "I never said I played fair," I breathed into his ear.

Beau groaned quietly. "Fine," he relented, letting me take his hand and guide him out onto the dance floor. "But if I break my other leg, I'm blaming it on you."

I laughed blithely, as we reached the place where my siblings were waltzing gracefully, and revolved to face him.

"You might not be able to dance," I murmured, pulling his unbroken arm around me and planting his hand on my lower back, "But I _can_." I snaked one arm around his shoulders, and rested the other over his beating heart. Smoothly, I led him into a slow, easy waltz.

"I don't think that helps me," he replied, his voice shaking just slightly.

"Don't _worry_ ," I encouraged him, "It's all in the leading."

I kept my dancing simple and rhythmic, so that he could keep up. He was far better at this than he gave himself credit for, I realized, as I led him smoothly around the dance floor— _even_ in a booted cast and with one arm pinned to his chest.

It didn't take long for me to be able to sink into the moment. Beau kept his eyes fixed mostly on our feet, which gave me full liberty to stare at his face. There was a slight 'v' shaped crease between his brows, which I had noticed tended to happen when he was concentrating on something with particular vigor. It had happened as he'd learned to walk with the new cast, and as we'd sat at his father's kitchen table together many evenings, as I helped him catch up on the homework he'd missed while in the hospital.

Beau had been released from the hospital less than a week after he'd woke from the sedation, and Charlie had been exceedingly grateful for both Archie's presence and mine. It caused me physical pain to be away from my love, so for the past few weeks, the only times I'd left him had been to hunt. While I wasn't there, Archie usually was—and Charlie was appreciative of the help. Archie had been there to help Beau dress and shower and maneuver his way up and down the stairs—doing all the things Charlie would have otherwise had to help Beau with.

They'd spent the entire afternoon together today while I prepared myself for tonight's festivities alongside my sisters. It had been a very different experience for me, to be able to ready myself for prom—to do my hair and nails and makeup, to put on a pretty dress and high heels. I was showing more skin than I was used to in the pretty strapless silk and tulle gown, but I was surprised to feel that I felt very comfortable, especially underneath Beau's appreciative gaze.

I drank in his apparel myself. He most likely did not know the lengths Archie had gone to custom-fit the designer tux he'd ordered for Beau—and truly, it fit him perfectly. Every inseam, every curve, it accentuated his figure perfectly. There was something undeniably delicious about Beau in a tuxedo—and it had nothing to do with the scent of his blood.

A very familiar, heady sensation welled up inside me as we swayed together, faces close, bodies closer. The scent of his skin and his blood and his hair wound in a perfumed cloud around me, and my throat was not the only thing on fire.

And then a very familiar mind broke through my blissful reverie…

 _Ugh. I'm so embarrassed to be here. This dress is_ way _too small, and everyone's looking at me… Ugh. But there he is—ohmigod, he looks amazing…_ A girlish sigh sounded in Julie Black's head, and possessive anger overwhelmed me. Not only was she here to see Beau, but she was here in attempts to separate him from me.

 _I hate to do this, but Mom promised… And I really need that cylinder…_

"Okay," Beau admitted, warm breath washing deliciously over my jaw and throat, "This isn't half bad."

But I didn't answer him. I had my eyes fixed on the object of my disdain. Julie Black stood in the open gym doors, dark silky hair swirling around her shoulders, wearing a simple black dress that was much too short. Her eyes fixed on mine for a short second, and her chin jutted out stubbornly.

Abruptly, her thoughts were stubborn and arrogant and competitive. She began making her way toward us, the soles of her black Converse slapping against the shiny parquet floor.

"What are you looking at?" Beau said now, following my gaze. "Oh."

 _Ugh, here goes… Maybe I can steal a dance…?_

I hissed, very quietly, and Beau glanced down at me, surprise on his face.

"Hey," he muttered chidingly.

"She wants to talk with you," I told him scathingly, my eyes fixed on the young, russet-skinned girl slipping her way through the crowds of dancers toward us. Her nervous eyes were fixed on Beau, but every once in a while they flickered to my own face.

 _I don't know about this… I really don't… But Mom seemed pretty serious… Is it really superstitions? Now that I look at her, that little redhead really gives me the creeps…_

She suppressed a shudder.

"Hey, Jules," Beau greeted her, immediately amicable. His grip on me loosened slightly. I hooked my pinky into the material of his jacket, not willing to let him go. "What are you doing here?"

Jules offered him a shy smile, and then looked at me again. She hesitated, not sure how to ask.

Reluctantly, I released my hold on him, making sure he was balanced, and then took a step back. "I'll give you a minute," I told him, and left the two to chat.

I took up a position on the back wall, hidden in the shadows just past the strobe lights and disco balls, and watched as they made their way slowly toward a free table. Beau hobbled along, and Julie Black's hands fluttered uselessly. I rolled my eyes and made a small sound of disgust in the back of my throat.

She shifted back and forth between the desire to help and the giddy nervousness of a teenage girl infatuated.

Beau dropped into the closest seat, and some of the muscles in my shoulders relaxed when I saw that he was out of harms' way—for now. Julie took the seat beside him, and tugged at the hem of her dress self-consciously.

A long, quiet moment passed between them.

"So," Beau finally urged, "You never told me how you ended up here. Gate crashing or something?"

Julie laughed humorlessly. _I wish_. "Nah… My mom, um, kind of asked me to come… Said she'd get me that master cylinder I've been looking for if I delivered a message…" Her face was bright red, and her eyes shifted nervously. She was looking anywhere but at Beau.

"A message?" There was a tinge of humorous disbelief in Beau's voice.

Julie shook her head, unimpressed and infuriated with her mother. "She said it was a 'safe' place to talk to you… I swear, that old bat has lost her mind."

They laughed together, though Beau sounded a little weak. I stared at the back of his head anxiously.

"Anyway—" Julie went on, "Um, don't be mad, okay?" She met his eyes now, thoughts repentive and mortified.

"Hey," Beau told her soothingly, reaching across the table to touch her shoulder. Her heart reacted to this, as well as her thoughts, and I snarled quietly. "I won't be mad at you. Just say what you need to say."

She sighed. "This is _so_ stupid, I'm sorry, Beau, but—she wants you to break up with your girlfriend…" Her nose wrinkled. "She asked me to tell you ' _please_ '." She shook her head, disgusted, remembering her mother's imploring expression and emphatic words.

Beau laughed shortly. "Still superstitious, hey?"

"It's completely ridiculous," Julie blurted, "As if it's any of her business, but…" She shrugged, "I don't know… She was _really_ upset when you got hurt down in Phoenix. She didn't believe the whole…"

"I fell," Beau interrupted quickly. I could read the lie in the tone of his voice. Could she?

"Yeah, that's what Charlie said…" She trailed off again, wishing she hadn't had to have done this, wishing she could have seen Beau under more casual circumstances. "I don't know… She thinks—"

"What? That Edythe had something to do with it?" His voice was shorter now, clipped. This pleased me, just slightly.

"I told her," Julie mumbled, "She's crazy—doesn't know what she's talking about."

Beau sighed. "Tell your mom something for me, would you?"

"Sure." She met his gaze again, relieved that he didn't seem angry with her.

"Tell her that if it wasn't for Edythe and her mom, I probably wouldn't be here right now."

I flinched. It was true—I _had_ helped to save his life, but if it had been up to me, he never would have found himself in such a predicament in the first place.

"Yeah…" Julie said now, "I'll tell her… Um…"

"What is it, Jules?" he asked, mirth in his voice, "Spit it out." He didn't sound bothered by the Blacks' warning in the least.

Julie exhaled heavily. "Don't take this personally—seriously don't—but…" She groaned. "She told me to tell you 'We'll be watching'." She turned the quotation into a raspy intonation, resembling that of a witch, and Beau laughed again. She joined in uneasily.

"Sorry you had to do this, Jules—really, I am."

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"And tell your mom thanks, for me, too. I know she's just looking out for me or whatever. So… Tell her that."

"Sure."

I hurried around the edge of the dance floor as their conversation came to a close.

"So, uh, can I get you a drink or something?" Julie offered.

"That's quite all right," I interrupted, coming up behind her chair. "I'll take it from here."

Julie jumped and whipped her head toward me, watching me with wary eyes as I moved to stand beside Beau's chair, clutching the back with a possessive hand.

"Jeez—you're quiet," she said to me, eyes still wide. Her heart thrummed a little faster than was usual—instinct. "Um, I guess I'll see you around, Beau." She got to her feet, knocking a knee against the underside of the table. She scrambled to steady it before the centerpiece could careen off the end and crash to the floor. "Oops!" Her face went red with embarrassment.

I watched her silently, waiting for her to leave.

Julie's eyes flickered back and forth between us.

Beau smiled at her, pretending he hadn't witnessed her clumsiness. For some reason, this irked me—their odd camaraderie, their odd shared struggles. It made me jealous.

"Yeah," he said to her now, "See you later."

"Sorry again," she said, and then turned and headed toward the door, relief and humiliation coursing through her thoughts.

I slid into Beau's lap and twined my arms around his neck. Another song was starting, but I didn't move to pull him out onto the dance floor again. Instead, I tucked my head under his chin, pressing my ear to his thumping, steady heart.

"Still mad?" he murmured into my hair.

"Yes," I confessed, "Julie Black is… Irritating."

Beau pulled back, and I leaned up to look at him. "Why?"

"First of all, she made me break my promise to you."

His brows creased together in confusion.

"I promised I wouldn't leave your side tonight," I elaborated with a smirk.

Beau rolled his eyes. "Oh, that. Don't worry about it."

I smiled at him. "Thank you."

And then I leaned down and rested my head on his shoulder again.

We sat together in the cloth-draped chair for a long moment, watching the elaborately dressed couples whirl together on the dance floor, swaying to the soft, romantic music underneath the fairy lights.

"So," he finally said, his voice quiet and contemplative, "Are you going to tell me why you dragged me here?"

I laughed and pressed my lips chastely to the edge of his jaw. "I don't think so. It's a secret," I teased.

"We don't keep secrets from each other," he said pointedly.

I pulled back to look at him for a long moment. "Tell me, then," I finally requested, knowing I was sure to meet some resistance from him regarding this particular topic, "What did you think we were getting so dressed up for, tonight?"

He blinked, cheeks going scarlet. I arced an eyebrow at him.

"It's a secret," he muttered.

I stared at his averted eyes for a very long moment. Finally, he relented, and brought his gaze to mine once more.

"Is there any chance at all you'll divulge that sacred information to me?" I asked him.

His lips tightened into a thin white line. "Not a chance."

"Not even if I tell you mine?"

Reluctantly, it looked like, he looked into my face once more. I could see the leeway I'd gained, and I smiled triumphantly, and then got to my feet.

"Come with me," I said, holding out my hand.

He sighed and took it, allowing me to pull him to his feet. We made our way through the crowd and out the gym doors. I walked him across campus until we were back at the car, and settled him onto the glistening hood. It was dark now, the moon piercing through the gauzy clouds above us. I could even make out some of the constellations.

I eased myself onto the hood next to him and stared up at the sky for a long moment. Beau reached up to twist a tendril of hair that had escaped from my up-do behind my ear.

His fingers lingered on my shoulder, and I could feel his probing eyes on my face.

Finally, I turned to look at him. I could feel the intense vulnerability in my eyes as I stared into his sweet, youthful face.

"I brought you to prom," I began slowly, "because I don't want you to miss anything. I don't want my presence to take anything away from you, if I can help it. I want you to be _human_. I want your life to continue as it would have if I'd died in nineteen-eighteen like I should have."

Again, the familiar battle raged inside of me. With everything I _had_ , I wanted him to live a life worthy of being human—I wanted him to experience all the best parts of it. But with all of my being, I _wanted_ him, I wanted to stay by his side forever, to steal his attention and time and affections. It was something I didn't deserve, but I _did_ desire it, with equal force. The two sides raged inside me, neither backing down, neither coming to any sort of supposition.

Surprisingly, Beau laughed. "In what strange twilight zone would I _ever_ have gone to prom by my own choice?"

I smiled briefly at him. "It wasn't so bad, you said so yourself."

"Because I was with _you_."

The next few moments passed in silence, and I lifted my eyes to the dimly glittering stars again.

"I don't want that part to end," he murmured lowly after a long moment.

I turned my face toward him, and found him staring at me intently, eyes blazing with some ferocious emotion I couldn't decipher. "What part?"

"The part where I'm with you," he said, and twined his fingers between mine, where they were folded loosely in my lap. "Forever."

His words elicited an acute ache, deep in my stomach. They caused me physical pain and angst.

How could he be willing to make such a large sacrifice, for the sake of being with _me_? I was equally touched and pained by his admission, wishing that it could be true, and at the very same time, knowing it could never be. I understood his willingness, because if I were the human, I would be willing to make the same sacrifice for him. Yes, I could understand it; but I could not accept it.

He was willing to give up his life for me—every single vestige of it—how could I not be touched by his willingness to make that gesture? Touched I could be, certainly, but it was another matter altogether to see the matter to its fruition.

" _Beau_ ," I breathed, leaning over to rest my forehead against his. "I _will_ stay with you—for the rest of _your_ forever. Isn't that enough?"

He brought his hand up to cradle the side of my face, and I closed my eyes at the pleasant warmth it brought, feeling each pulse of his heart against my cheek. I listened to the wonderful pounding of his lifeblood through his veins, wishing it would never need to end. But it would, one day—even if everything went according to plan, even if I was able to see him through to his final, aged breath without endangering him with my life any further… Why was that possibility becoming more and more difficult to fathom?

"Yeah," he finally murmured, and I opened my eyes so I could see his face. He looked paler in the moonlight, his skin smooth and almost incandescent. "I guess it is enough… For now."

I growled very softly at the strength of his tenacity, remembering the words his mother had spoken to me in the hospital… _If he believes in something strongly enough, he finds a way to see it through_ … So he was decided, then.

But I was decided, too, and I would not surrender my post—tonight, or any other night.

I leaned in to wrap my arms around his waist, and tilted my head until it rested against his warm, soft chest. His free arm wound around my shoulders, giving me warmth I'd never known I'd missed until I felt it.

"I love you," he murmured into my hair.

"As I love you," I responded quietly, "And that'll just have to be enough for the both of us—enough for forever."

I tilted my face up until my nose was level with his throat, and I breathed in the succulent fragrance of his blood. As close as I was to his skin, I could both see and hear the rhythmic pulse of blood flowing through his carotid artery. I knew exactly what would happen if I gave into the animal inside me.

The ghost of his taste lingered on the back of my tongue, and flared in my throat.

I appreciated the temptation for what it was, and then I beat the monster inside me back.

 _I love you… And I will never hurt you again,_ I promised him silently, and to seal the oath, I pressed my lips very softly to the side of his lovely throat.

…

 **A/N:** Whoa… I've done it… I can hardly believe how fast I pounded this out, guys. Like… It's unbelievable.

Now let me go listen to 'Slow Dancing In A Burning Room' and cry to myself at what's to come… That song is great foreshadowing for 'Darkest Hour', by the way ;)

Let me know what you thought of the finale, and make sure you have me on author alert so that you'll be notified when New Moon through Edythe's eyes comes out!

I love you all so much, and I appreciate your unfailing support to the ends of the earth—truly I do! Thank you so much, and I'll see you all very soon… This isn't the end! xoxo


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